Skip to main content

Full text of "Triangulating peace: democracy, interdependence, and international ..., Volume 6"

See other formats

This is a digital copy of a book that was preserved for generations on Hbrary shelves before it was carefully scanned by Google as part of a project 
to make the world's books discoverable online. 

It has survived long enough for the copyright to expire and the book to enter the public domain. A public domain book is one that was never subject 
to copyright or whose legal copyright term has expired. Whether a book is in the public domain may vary country to country. Public domain books 
are our gateways to the past, representing a wealth of history, culture and knowledge that's often difficult to discover. 

Marks, notations and other marginalia present in the original volume will appear in this file - a reminder of this book's long journey from the 
publisher to a library and finally to you. 

Usage guidelines 

Google is proud to partner with libraries to digitize public domain materials and make them widely accessible. Public domain books belong to the 
public and we are merely their custodians. Nevertheless, this work is expensive, so in order to keep providing this resource, we have taken steps to 
prevent abuse by commercial parties, including placing technical restrictions on automated querying. 

We also ask that you: 

+ Make non- commercial use of the files We designed Google Book Search for use by individuals, and we request that you use these files for 
personal, non-commercial purposes. 

+ Refrain from automated querying Do not send automated queries of any sort to Google's system: If you are conducting research on machine 
translation, optical character recognition or other areas where access to a large amount of text is helpful, please contact us. We encourage the 
use of public domain materials for these purposes and may be able to help. 

+ Maintain attribution The Google "watermark" you see on each file is essential for informing people about this project and helping them find 
additional materials through Google Book Search. Please do not remove it. 

+ Keep it legal Whatever your use, remember that you are responsible for ensuring that what you are doing is legal. Do not assume that just 
because we believe a book is in the public domain for users in the United States, that the work is also in the public domain for users in other 
countries. Whether a book is still in copyright varies from country to country, and we can't offer guidance on whether any specific use of 
any specific book is allowed. Please do not assume that a book's appearance in Google Book Search means it can be used in any manner 
anywhere in the world. Copyright infringement liability can be quite severe. 

About Google Book Search 

Google's mission is to organize the world's information and to make it universally accessible and useful. Google Book Search helps readers 
discover the world's books while helping authors and publishers reach new audiences. You can search through the full text of this book on the web 

at http : //books . google . com/| 

Triangulating peace 

Bruce M. Russett, John R. Oneal 

itlzed by 


Digitized by 


Digitized by 


Digitized by 


Digitized by 


Digitized by 



^ OCTOBER 1907 

THE NEW y-.- 


H" PRICE 10 cpW^"^^^-' 





Digitized by V^OOQlC 



The W. W. Ford Tobacco Works is thoroughly reliable in every particular, and will carry out every promise made.— Ed. 

Digitized by V^OOQlC 


The Dead IDaster 

Ui(s 01 tht dcaib of RidMrd maiifleM 

By Tom Sigismtind StriUing 

Ulail Ibe master. He is dead. 
SiDiftly bad) Ms spirit fled; 
mourn blm stately* mourn l)im greatly — 
He 1$ princeliest of tl)e dead* 

Let Tragic IDuse and IDirtl) Protean* 
Raise a grand and mournful paean ; 
Tbeir creator and translatcr* 
He batb floipn for endless aeon. 

And* ye realms iDbicb noip be doipers* 
Ye iDbo took bim in bis pounrs* 
Set stages vaster for tbe master— 
He batb groipn too great for ours. 

Digitized by 



Painting by M. L. McComb 

"When Sally sat down to her sewing a little later her thoughts were very far removed from 
her work, and she was more troubled than she cared to show." 

The Night Riders {See page k1) 

Digitized by 









NO. 1 

Aaron, LENOX and 




By Berenice Fearn Young 

UT Betsy," said her 
mother, ''Robert Ef- 
fingham is a worthy 
young man and of a 
most estimable family, 
which hath ever num- 
bered men of distinc- 
tion amongst its sons," 
Betsy said nothing. 
She calmly broke four 
eggs for her cup cake, 
separating the yellows irom the whites 
with careful precision. 

"They have a fair property here in 
the Colonies," continued Madame 
Handsford, "and in England a coun- 
try house and a town house, and are 
high in favor at court." 

"As for land, property and the like, 
we lack nothing, mother, here at home. 
The care of a country house and a 
town house is irksome, and the 
sparking of them who are hangers-on 
at court wearies me — their words are 
scarce seemly to a country-bred maid 
— and moreover I like not the climate 
of England. Further, it ill beseemeth 
my father's daughter to find comforta- 
ble the affections of a nephew of Lord 
Howard Effingham, whose name and 
memory are bywords the length and 
breadth of the Middle Plantations." 
Her mother sighed. True, she had 
been the wife and was now the not 
unresigned widow of the "rebel and 
martyr," Handsford, and she had ever 
borne herself as beseemed his consort. 
Yet often his stem simplicity had been 

distasteful to her. She longed for 
the flesh pots of Egypt and fondly re- 
membered the gay doings at court 
when she was for one short year the 
lady-in-waiting on the wife of James 
the Second, where her martial and se- 
vere-eyed lover had found her and 
carried her away with him to his 
Majesty's dominion of Virginia, now 
twenty-five long years gone. 

Mistress Handsford's sigh had but 
little effect on Betsy, who serenely beat 
the batter for her cake and as serenely 
set it to bake in the big oven and be- 
took herself to the long front porch, 
whence could be plainly seen the roof 
of William and Mary College, presid- 
ed over by Parson Camm. This gen- 
tleman, aljjeitl^^^ had been denominat- 
ed by her ^father once a? ao/^ab^ipina- 
ble Tory," waf}Y?t -thought by her fath- 
er's daughter' to pi^f'pi Jt, most com- 
manding eye, anil -V mQ§{. engaging 
demeanor" foe ^a'" p^r^onl %and college 
president. She wa's'deelply concerned 
that John Camm should have been so 
bitter against her father's old friend, 
Patrick Henry, and deplored the an- 
gry words between them, but for all 
that she admired the parson for stick- 
ing to his rights as he saw them, and 
she defied all the Plantations to pro- 
duce another such a pair of flashing 
gray eyes or such shoulders or so full 
and firm a mouth, so stately a walk or 
so musical a voice in reading a pas- 
sage in Scripture! Here it was Bet- 
sy's time to sigh, and she did so soft- 

Digitized by 



ly, for his voice out of the pulpit she 
but seldom heard. He cared little for 
the blandishments of women, being a 
scholar and ever with a book in his 
hand. Of late she had conversed with 
him at some length twice. Once be- 
ing fallen somewhat behind the oth- 
ers on coming from church, he had 
overtaken her, and he had ridden with 
her even to her gate, where he had ais- 
mounted and led her horse to the 
horse block and assisted her to alight, 
and after had refused most graciously 
her mother's invitation to dinner. The 
next time, which was but a few days 
later, she had chanced to be gathering 
lavender blossoms for certain house- 
hold purposes as he came by her gar- 
den on his morning walk. She had 
found his speech pleasant, and he had 
adced for a sprig of lavender, saying 
that its odor was extraordinarily 
grateful to him, making him think of 
his mother in England, who it seemed 
preferred it to all other sweet-smell- 
ing shrubs or garden flowers. Her- 
self also, she had said, and he had 
smiled upon her, a wondrous winning 
smile for so grave a mouth, the 
prettier, she thought, in that it 
was so fleeting, like a sudden 
slant of sun across a leafy place. 
She sighed again, more softly 
still, and stepped quickly back into 
the kitchen, warned by the warm, fra- 
grant smell that she had best look in 
her .oveu. /'J^pbert EflRngham," she 
thoughts as she opo^d iJis oven door 
just*a*trackJ6st Ker c^e "fall," and 
so her mdr'silng** \W) for naught, 
"Robert Efrnghaih is forever laugh- 
ing at iiidti^ing, Sfiil'^ ipysterer be- 
side ! H^ Hith h© Vwt, «o' parts. Could 
he make a speech? Never. Could 
he hold out stoutly against Patrick 
Henry himself in an argument ? Could 
he fight a lawsuit with courage and 
accept defeat with calm and dignity? 
Not he. All he knows is tavern quip 
and jest, and how to troll a foolish 
song, and how to make a maid's cheek 
blush, and what dog to take a-hunting. 
His temper is too quick, his air too 
haughty to them who brook it, he is 
too high handed and too light headed ! 
The best thing about him one can say 

is that Parson Camm hath a liking 
for him." 

With this she drew her cake from 
the oven and with her face flushed by 
the. heat of the fire, returned to the 
porch and her reveries while shred- 
ding the spikes of lavender into a 
snowy cloth laid across her lap, get- 
ting-them ready to be later sewed into 
small bags and thereafter placed be- 
tween the folds of household linen 
and napery. Presently her mother 
came out with her sewing, and there 
they were joined later by Mistress 
Culpepper, who came riding a-horse- 
back to spend the morning, and who, 
abrim with gossip, could scarce di- 
vest herself of riding gloves and hat 
ere she began a moving tale. 

"What do you Siink, Mistress 
Handsford, and you too, Betsy, of this 
latest prank of Robert Effingham — 
the roystering blade?" 

"I protest I know not what it is, 
but like enough 'tis harmless. Mistress 
Culpepper," answered Betsy's mother, 
mildly. Betsy said nothing. 

"Were you not at church, then, last 
Sabbath day? Strange, I did not miss 
you from the congregation." 

"I had a slight quinsy on Sunday, 
and Betsy stayed at home to bear me 

"So? And you have not heard of 
it?" She drew her chair nearer. 
"Why, the Middle Plantation is ring- 
ing with it, and good cause ! I won- 
der the news hath been so long reach- 
ing you. 'Tis the most amazing bad 
behavior ever done by any gentleman 
in Virginia ! Not that we are any of 
us surprised ; for right well you know, 
Elizabeth Handsford, that this young 
Effingham is a sparkish, slashing 
blade, and that his manners smack too 
much of court and camp to please our 
quiet, gentle folk. You, who served 
at court yourself, and w^ere used to 
free ways belike in your youth, may 
overlook his eye-making, his leg- 
showing, his unseemly love-making to 
this maid and that, and his ruffling it 
among all the damsels as if he were 
our gracious Majesty himself! I, for 
one, have found him intolerable, and 
like his haughty ways, which make 

Digitized by 



him the picture of his hateful uncle, 
as little as I do his ill-timed jests and 
bold eyes." 

"Have done with rating him, Ann 
Culpepper," interrupted Mistress 
Handsford, somewhat sharply. "We 
all know you were bred in the Colo- 
nies and unused to the custom of 
town-bred gentlefolk, and it may be 
having seen less of the manner of gen- 
tlemen than most, having married 
young and your good husband averse 
to any but a quiet life. Your friends, 
all, are willing to overlook your lack 
of knowledge of the world, knowing 
how small hath been your opportuni- 
ty. But come! To the point, to the 
point in this matter ! How hath young 
Effingham offended? What grave in- 
decorum hath he committed now? 
Poor lad, he is like to receive scant 
consideration here in the Colonies 
where most of us have forgot the fash- 
ion — and some of us have never seen 

Betsy smiled at her mother's little 
spurt of temper and quickly curbed 
the smile. She was not only a dutiful 
daughter, but had an uncommon sense 
of humor, although in demeanor and 
look she strongly resembled her grave 
and handsome father, who had suf- 
fered himself to be called a rebel and 
had gloried in being called a martyr. 
While Betsy trod serenely and calmly 
through life, its big things and its 
small, she loved her spicy mother and 
rather enjoyed the latter's tart tongue 
and temper, though many a time she 
had fronted both down with her quiet 

"You have much courage if you es- 
pouse the cause of Robert Effing- 
ham in this last mad caper," continued 
Mistress Culpepper, meek, but nettled. 
"This transcends all. You must know, 
of course, as all do, that he hath be- 
haved with rudeness to good old Wid- 
ow Blair, whose husband was the first 
president of our wx^rthy and praise- 
deserving .college of William and 
Mary, in which this Plantation hath 
great pride. Her husband's office and 
him should be respecket in her as any 
will grant. Young Effingham hath 
sent her many messages this past week 

in regard to the pew in church where- 
in she hath sate these thirty years. 
It hath pleased our young sir to sit 
in that pew, and he hath tried it on 
various occasions, for he hath declared 
it openly at the tavern, where you can- 
not deny he often drinks too much, 
that in that particular pew he can best 
see both Betsy here and Parson Camm 
also, for whoin he professes a most 
uncommon attachment. For my part, 
I take it ill that a sober man holding 
in godliness the office and position 
which Parson Camm doth should be 
agreeable, to a friendship which does 
him so little credit." 

Betsy's color, which had heightened 
somewhat at the allusion to herself 
in Widow Culpepper's story, deepened 
further, and her eyes flashed at this 
criticism of John Camm, but the head 
of her father's child restrained the 
tongue of her mother's daughter, and 
she said or showed nothing unbecom- 
ing a maid in the presence of her el- 

"But to get at the matter and have 
done with it, for I take much longer 
in the telling than it took in the hap- 
pening, since it was over and done 
between a look and a breath, to the 
consternation of us all assembled for 
worship ! 'Twas like this. Last Sun- 
day all in good time in came poor 
Widow Blair into the church, walking 
in her usijal mournful manner. As 
you know, she is a small female and 
mightily sad. Each Sabbath day she 
sits dolefully and fixes her counte- 
nance as though she were carved in 
stone and weeping in an urn upon 
a tomb. She is a widow indeed. It 
hath developed that she came rather 
before her regular time to service, for 
I am told by one who knows that she 
had got word from Robe;* Fffingham 
not to sit in that pew as he had a mind 
to occupy it alone, declaring her snif- 
fling and .moaning discomposed him 
so as to prevent him praying — the 
godless youth! Mistress Blair is a 
very determined female, for all her 
smallness. Being of the weaker sex, 
she yet hath the male will, and tfiey do 
say that in the lifetime of her departed 
spouse she — ^but at any rate she was 

Digitized by 



indisposed to give up her pew to Rob- 
ert Effingham or any other, and had 
sent him word flatly that she would 
not yield to him. She came in a new 
fringed black paduasoy but late pur- 
chased from London, knelt, seate<l 
herself and, as is her custom, unfolded 
her handkerchief, holding it ready. 
She weeps without fail at the appear- 
ance of Parson Camm, in whom she 
sees a most touching likeness to Doc- 
tor Blair. Of a truth, I see not the 
resembling, for Doctor Blair was 
small of stature, and hath, or had in 
life, a most disconcerting wart on his 
nose and a most discomfortable man- 
ner of swallowing between each word 
with a face which ever put me in mind 
of a small boy taking a pill and liking 
it not. And we all know that Parson 
Camm hath a majestic demeanor be- 
fitting him and comfortinfy to sit un- 
der. Widows do have strange vaga- 
ries about their departed lords. Now, 
strange as it may seem, I — but that 
also is a digression. As I say, the 
time drew near for Parson Camm to 
make his appearance, and we sat ex- 
pectant in godliness and quiet, when 
in ruffled this Effingham sprig with 
hair much curled, in a new plum-col- 
ored suit, with pink facings of silk, 
and a vastly cock-of-the-walk manner. 
He walked down the aisle as if he 
trod a minuet, and on reaching the 
pew where sat Mistress Blair* (her 
back being turned somewhat to him), 
he halted, elevated his eyebrows and 
then his eyes took on a most unbecom- 
ing merriment (I sit, as you kno\v\ 
just opposite Widow Blair), and be- 
fore one could say 'lx>rd ha' mercy!' 
he stepped into the widow's pew, 
leaned over, caught her in his anus, 
lifted her high in air and sat ber 
plump down in the pew behind — and 
this in the presence of both minister 
and congregation! This I think go- 
ing too far! This I call too profane 
and scandalous an action. Poor Mis- 
tress Blair, what she thought I can- 
not vouch, but her look was amazing. 
We all, you may well believe it, sat 
up and for a space looked at each oth- 
er and then at the parson. The in- 
stant was fraught with pain to all but 

young Effingham, whose countenance 
put me in mind of the line in the hymn 
which saith, 'Every prospect pleases.' 
Parson Camm bore himself admirably, 
all must unite in declaring, and said 
very solemn : 'Let us pray.' Whereat, 
who should bow the head devoutlier 
than any but that profane young man ! 
At the end of the prayer his amen 
and the sniffle of Widow Blair sound- 
ed at one and the same moment. Of 
a truth it passes belief. I do not wx)n- 
der that you look agape as I tell it. 
It doth transcend all that ever I have 
heard for sacrilege and blasphemy!" 

Madame Handsford was fain to 
confess that there could be no defense 
for such an act on the part of her fa- 
vorite, and to agree that his conduct 
should not be overlooked or condoned. 

After some further gossip the Wid- 
ow Culpepper departed, and Betsy, 
her domestic duties accomplished, 
seated herself in the summer house 
to read for an hour before dinner in 
a small volume of Ben Jonson, w"hich 
she had found among her father's 

On this same morning closeted with 
Parson Camm sat "the slashing blade" 
and oflfender, the ruffling upsetter of 
service and uplifter of widows. They 
had talked over the scandalous beha- 
vior of Effingham. The young fellow 
had listened with becoming humility 
and every appearance of regret and 
remorse to the severe rebuke of the 
parson. Yet his eyes were suspicious- 
ly merry as he put out his hand to 
John Camm after an hour of lecture 
and reproof. 

"l^pon my life, John. I did 
not know that I was going to 
do it until it was done. The woman 
hath a parlous sniffle, and is as much 
given to balking as her roan mule. 
She thought by reason of her sex to 
out-general me. I had given her fair 
warning that I needed just that pew, 
could praise my Maker and my Mak- 
er's handiwork in no other position. 
For there best can I see you, John, 
and there best can I glorify God by 
looking on the face of the fairest maid 

Digitized by 



in the three Plantations. Forgive me 
and forget it. I have come to you on 
weightier matter than lifting a pUny, 
obstinate female from one seat to an- 
other. Doubtless it fluttered the lady. 
It hath been long since she felt a man's 
arm clasp her. Let it go, John; for- 
g:et it. Thou hast ever befriended me 
since I was a small lad at school back 
across the water." And he would lis- 
ten no longer to John's displeasure 
and rebuke. He swept it aside, say- 

"Be done, John; be done, be 
done! Tis past. Such a caper shall 
not hap again. I am concluded to set- 
tle down, build a house after the fash- 
ion of the Manor House back home, 
forswear the tavern and live honest. 
I am in love, John Camm. I am in 
love, man — think of thjit!" Here the 
young scamp had the grace to bow his 
head and add: "She is too good for 
me, but if a man got his deserts we 
would none of us wive! Unless," he 
continued, as an afterthought, "it 
were you. And, man or parson, there 
be too few of your pattern to wed all 
the women. I am in love, in love, 
John. Like enough you know her. 
She sits under yon in church each Sab- 
bath. You were a man of ice not to 
know her, and she a maid to make ice 
stream like a river! Will she have 
me, think you? Speak up, John." 

"Your behavior," said Parson 
Camm, "hath scarce been such as to 
commend you to modest women. P>ut 
women are creatures of the whilk but 
little can be prognosticated, and al- 
though I have but scant time to think 
on them, and have given no thought 
to their habit in love-making and mat- 
ing, yet I am prone to consider that 
they mate as they talk, with small in- 
sight and no reason." 

All at once the mien, eyes and 
conversation cff Betsy Handsford 
were as if present. He some- 
what hastily rose from his seat at 
the table and walked to the window 
and back. He seemed to see her in 
the garden gathering lavender, and 
had an unexplainable remembrance of 
the sweetness of her grave eyes and 
gentle voice. Also, he had a discon- 

certing recollection of a lock of bright 
brown hair blown by the wind across 
her face. He recalled to mind every 
word that she had uttered, shy, yet 
with a perfect calm. She had spoken 
of a certain matter in connection with 
William and Mary College, and he 
remembered that she had taken the 
same view of it as he had when think- 
ing it over in his study. Then she had 
spoken of certain church matters also 
in Capable and quiet fashion. Further 
than this, she had talked a word of 
her garden and her pleasure in it, and 
of the lavender whose odor was grate- 
ful to him. After a little speech of 
John Milton, between the leaves of 
whose "Paradise Lost" his finger was 
as he walked (John Milton, a very prig 
and a dunderhead in things political 
and temporal, yet for all that a godly 
man and no mean poet), they had part- 
ed. Strange he remembered every word 
she had spoken, most unusual! And 
that only the second time he had seen 
her to have speech of any length with 
her in her presence alone. Of the 
first time he recollected the very spot 
on the road where his horse had over- 
taken hers, the glow in her cheeks, 
her well-poised seat in the saddle, her 
— . He rose again, seated himself 
anew, and said quidcly : 

"And who is this incomparable she, 
Robert? Who is this damsel that 
hath set thee wool-gathering on the 
subject of houses built and midnight 
carousing forsaken, and court and 
camp distasteful?" 

"Who but Betsy Handsford, John? 
And well I know that I have little to 
commend me to her liking, and that 
little I have placed in jeopardy. Much 
I fear me she will not listen to my 
further wooing, taking me so smally 
in earnest, in that she knows that I 
have kissed this hand and that, and 
lips where I could, but I vow I will 
rove no more. I am mad for Betsy 
Handsford, and I must have her. 
What I would ask of thee is this — 
do you seek her for me. Speak to her 
grave and convincing as thou well 
knowest how. Get her ear — thou 
canst. Make her sure of my unchang- 
ing devotion. Open up to her the 

Digitized by 




thought that her affections will be my 
safeguard, and her union with me 
my salvation; her love for me will 
make a man of me." 

"Robert, Robert, lad, it is not the 
love of woman which will make of 
thee a man; it is only within thyself 
that such power can arise. But of a 
truth thou speakest as a man in ear- 
nest, and canst do thy own wooing. 
Such words as have this moment fell 
from thee betokened eloquent enough 
matter for convincement of any wom- 
an ; of most, at least." He added the 
last part of his statement in spite of 
himself, and then he argued further 
on the matter, and wx)uld have done 
so at great length. But no, young Ef- 
fingham would not hear to anything 
but that John should go to the lady 
and plead the younger man's cause. 
Finally the parson consented, but he 
had unaccountable little heart in the 
matter. It was no unusual custom in 
those times for a friend to be the go- 
between in affairs of marriage, and al- 
liances were arranged no less among 
the gentry than. with crowned heads, 
the high contracting parties seemingly 
quite satisfied with this disposal of 
their fortunes by an intermediary — 
a sort of God-of-the-machine, cut and 
dried affair that more than one woman 
has in her heart rebelled at and some 
with their tongue, and that however 
complaisant the man in the case has 
shown himself, we may be sure had 
his "fling" for such complaisance 
either before or after marriage and 
many a time both. 

Long that night did Parson Camm 
sit up over college matters, and an un- 
quiet and restless mind did he bring 
to his duties. Late in the watches of 
the night his candles burned. He fin- 
gered over and over written instruc- 
tions to be handed the housekeeper of 
"William and Mary" regarding a 
young Indian brave, son of the 
"Queen of Pamunkey," who had been 
sent to college with a boy to wait upon 
him, and likewise two chiefs' sons, 
"handsomely cloathed after the Indian 
fashion." These instructions having 
been written out in his bold, flowing 
hand, he pushed the paper aside. Pres- 

ently he took a fresh pen and fresh 
paper and commenced to set down 
certain scriptural quotations anent 
matrimony, which he intended to use 
in speech with Betsy Handsford on 
the following day, if granted an in- 
terview" in his friend's behalf. It was 
not the custom in those times for pro- 
fessors in colleges to marry, though 
not then forbid, as it was for a 
period in the life of William and 
Mary College; and John Camm had 
never thought of it before ; why should 
he now? Impatiently he thrust aside 
his scriptural gleanings, took another 
piece of paper and set himself sternly 
to writing other needful instructions 
to the housekeeper, nimibering each 

1. Concern not yourself with any of the 
Boys only when you have a Complaint 
against any of Them, and then sec that 
you make it to his or their proper Master. 

2. That there be always both fresh and 
salt Meat for Dinner: and twice in the 
Week, as well as Sunday in particular, 
that tiiere be either Puddings or Pies be- 

3. That the Sodety not only allow you, 
but desire you to get a Cook, and further- 
more that the Boys' Suppers be not as 
usual made up of different Scraps, but 
that there be set at eurh Table the same 
Sort; that cold fresh Meat be often hashed 
for them; 

4. That you yourself see their Victuals 
before it be carried to them when they arc 

5. That they be given Medicine regu- 

6. That a proper Stocking Mender be 
procured to live in or near the College, as 
both Masters and Boys do bitterly com- 
plain of losing their Stockings. 

7. Furthermore we particularly request 
it of you to visit less in the Town and 
Country that your Affairs at the College 
may not suffer. Stay at Home diligently 
that Complaints against you may be les- 

These instructions being completed, 
he wrote out orders to be posted for 
the benefit of the young men of Wil- 
liam and Mary College, thus: 

I. yt no scholar belonging to any school 
in ye College, of wt Age, Rank or Quality, 
soever, do keep any race Horse at ye Col- 
lege, in ye Town, or anywhere in ye Neigh- 
borhood of ye same & yt they be not con- 
cerned anyway in making races, or in 
backing or abetting, those made by others 

Digitized by 



& yt all race Horses kept in ye Neigh- 
borhood of ye College & belonging to any 
of ye Scholars be immediately dispatched 
& sent off, & never again brought back un- 
der Pain of ye severest Punishement: 

2. yt no Student shall take part in Cock- 
Fighting, nor frequent ye Ordinaries, nor 
bette, nor play at Dice, nor Billiards, nor 
bring Cards or Dice to ye College : 

3. yt severe Penaltie and Pain of Pun- 
ishement will be put upon any Student 
who may presume to go out of ye Bounds 
of ye College, particularly towards ye Mill 
Pond, without express Permission, & ye 
Mill Pond be at ale time sedulously 
shunned : 

4. to ye Ende yt no Person may pre- 
tend Ignorance of ye foregoing Regula- 
tions it is ordered yt a clear and Legible 
Copy of ym be posted up in everie School 
of ye College.' 

All these instructions being writ 
and neatly placed in a pile for distri- 
bution on the morrow, John arose and 
walked slowly to the casement, flung 
it wide, and looked out across the 
fields and wondered if she were asleep, 
blushed at the thought, put it away 
from him, and went strangely moved 
to bed where he dreamed she came to 
meet him across the moonlighted fields 
with an apron full of lavender b*o-!- 

As early as was seemly on the fol- 
lowing morning he mounted his horse 
to ride over to the house of Madame 
Handsford. He dressed himself very 
carefully, fine ruffled shirt of cambric, 
and his best in the way of buckles at 
knee and shoe. For surely it befitted 
a man bent on such an errand to be 
fittingly garbed. 

His dream of last night had fled 
from him. He was thinking only 
of Robert Effingham, thinking rather 
gravely how lightly the lad was about 
to take a serious step, thinking that 
for the scapegrace to have chosen 
wisely was something much in his fa- 
vor, thinking with a sigh of which 
he wot not that it was but natural for 
the heart to go out to such a damsel, 
seeing we needs must love the. highest 
when we see it, wondering if the maid 
in question cherished a feeling of af- 
fection for this scatter-brained, lova- 
ble, untamed lad, whose suit he was to 
urge, fitting -together the proper 
phrases in which to address her, and 

in which to clothe the virtues of the 
young man who desired her affections 
(for he had virtues, as little as his 
demeanor showed them to advantage), 
wondering remotely about the cove- 
nant of marriage as it was entered 
into by men, other men. He lifted his 
shovel hat from his head as he rode 
down the leafy country highway, and 
bared a thoughtful high forehead, a 
fine, clean-cut face, to the stunrtier 
wind — a face well deserving the light 
touch of a woman's hand laid in ten- 
derness upon it. 

She was in the garden again, and 
looking up showed frankly her pleas- 
ure in the sight of him. On his alight- 
ing and entering the gate she passed 
promptly out through the opening in 
the privet hedge to meet him. Where 
her kerchief met across her bosom 
were two or three spikes of lavender. 

"Good morrow to you, Parson 
Camm," she said. "The air is so fine 
I wonder not you were fain to ride 
forth in it. I will fetch my mother, 
if it please you to sit on the porch 
or in the summer house rather than 
within doors." 

"Stay, Mistress Betsy, I pray you 
— and may I ask a little conversation 
with you rather than with Madame 
Handsford in the beginning? — 
though later I shall hope to speak 
with her also if she be at leisure ^nd 
inclined to a visitor. May I further, 
since I desire to have speech for your 
private ear, direct our steps rather 
to the summer house than the porch, 
which I deem not quite so remote 
from chance of interruption?" 

"Of a surety, sir," said Betsy, 
calmy, but she was not calm. She 
led the way to the summer house at 
the edge of the yard, where the yard 
touched upon the garden. There was 
a star jessamine climbing and shed- 
ding its tiny blossoms through the 
lattice work of the roof upon the 
floor. She stood, respectful of his 
cloth and position, and pointed to a 
low bench, saying, "Be seated, sir." 
Then she sat down beside him. The 
little star-shaped blooms smelled 
amazing sweet, he thought, and also 
that very likely he in time should 

Digitized by 




come to like their strange and un- 
familiar fragrance as well as the life- 
long known perfume of the lavender. 
Straightway he plunged into what he 
had to say. 

"Matrimony is an estate approved 
by heaven." She shot him a quick 
and startled glance, and then quietly 
took up from a woric basket, on a low 
table near her, a roll of cambric ruf- 
fling, and said as she found the needle, 
'Truly, Parson Camm, it hath been 
approved by women and men as well 
as heaven, I believe, since Master 
Adam and Mistress Eve." Then she 
smiled, but he did not look at her 
and therefore missed somewhat. 

"I have come to lay before your 
consideration the virtues and good 
parts of young Robert Effingham." 

"I have myself pondered upon them, 
sir. Nor have I found them confus- 
ing in number." 

"He hath sterling qualities, and a 
ready heart and arm to — " 

"He hath, I grant it, a ready arm — 
and used it most readily on last Sab- 
bath Day, I have been told. Also he 
hath a roving eye." 

"Think not upon last Sabbath, child. 
It was an action unworthy of him, 
and of the whilk he sorely repents. 
It was done unthoufyhtedly, but with- 
out malice to Widow Blair, or inten- 
tion of offense to me, or sacrilege of 
God's house. I do not condone it — 
but — ." Was he about to say "I un- 
derstand it?" Amazed and shocked 
at himself, he proceeded quickly, "The 
youth is enamored of you." 

"Hath he sent you to apprise me? 
Is his tongue not so ready as his 

"It is, indeed! He is not averse to 
wooing, but he deemed that mayhap 
you would listen sooner to his suit if 
put gravely by a serious man before 
you, thinking my words perchance 
might have weight with you rather 
than his." 

"He thought not amiss there," she 
said, quickly, and then bit her thread 
off neatly and carefully selected a 
fresh needleful. Encouraged by this, 
he proceeded: 

"It is written that it is not good 

for man to live alone, and that a vir- 
tuous woman is a crown to her hus- 
band and more to be desired than 
much fine gold. And — er — ^also it is 
recorded that Abraham dwelt many 
years happily with Sarah, tljat Isaac 
greatly loved Rebekah, and that Ruth 
forsodk all and cleaved unto her hus- 

He looked up and found her eyes 
fastened upon his face. A star jessa- 
mine fell upon his hand. 

"Yea, sir; the love of them of 
whom you have spoke is pleasant to 
consider. Ruth hath ever been to me 
a moving ensample of constancy and 
devotion.. I oft have thought upon 
her," said the maiden beside him. 

"The union between man and 
woman is God*s ordainment," he con- 
tinued. "The enduring love of a 
steadfast man is the crown of a 
woman, the tender passion of a con- 
stant woman is the shield and buckler 
of a man." 

"Yea," she said, calmly, and waited. 

"Robert can offer you much that is 
now praise- and love-worthy, and your 
life linked with his, he thinks, will 
make a man of him." 

"Shall I then marry a creature to 
make of him a man ?" 

"You wrong Robert Effingham, you 
greatly wrong him — and look you, a 
strong man, a steadfast, a true, a ten- 
der to her he loves, albeit stern to the 
world and his duty — such a man is an 
honor to the woman that he makes 
his wife and to the God who made 

"I love such a man," quickly she 
answered. In his astonishment he 
opened out the palm of his hand, and 
a star jessamine fell in it. His hand 
closed on it. Swiftly she rose to her 
feet and said again, "I love such a 
man. For Robert Effingham there is 
no way open, nor to any save the 

He rose also to his feet. He knew 
not that he spoke the question, 
"Who?" The word sprang from his 
lips with his breath. 

Then she said, this daughter of a 
soldier, this maiden unafraid to face 
herself, this woman made altogether 

Digitized by 




desirable by the humor that flashed 
in her eyes: 

"Open your Bible, not at the story 
of Isaac and Rebekah, nor yet at the 
story of Ruth, but to Samuel in the 
second book, the twelfth chapter and 
the seventh verse, and belike you may 
divine who it is, oh, John Camm !" 

Then she left him. 

He forgot his horse, and strode 
home with the star jessamine fast in 
his closed hand. On his study table 
lay his great Bible open. With eager 
fingers he turned to the Book of 
Samuel, the jessamine loosed fell to 
the floor. He found and he read : 

"And Nathan said unto David, 
*Thou art the man.' " 

He stooped, picked up the flower, 
kissed it, marked the place with it — 
and went back for his horse. 

♦ ♦♦♦♦♦ 

Some months later John Camm en- 
tered his study and found his wife 
there dusting his books with circum- 
spection and discretion, for it was a 
task of hers over which her Parson 
grew mightily restless. She lifted up 
his "Paradise Lost" the better to wipe 

it free of dust, when from it fluttered 
a loose sheet filled with handwriting. 
Now her John had a pretty taste in 
languages and knew somewhat of the 
Spanish and French tongues as well 
as Latin. As she was about to slip 
the leaf back into the Milton she read 
beneath the verse in French (for verse 
it was) a translation, done all in 
John's own hand, and headed thus: 


Looking up she saw him in the 
doorway. "Out upon you for a light- 
minded poet!" she laughed at him, 
but her eyes said "My Lover!" He 
entered, flung an arm about her 
shoulder and together they read, he 
the French and she the English. 
El fait que dame, et si fait bien, 
Car SOS del, n'a si france rien, 
Com est dame qui violt amer, 
Quant Deus la violt a co torner; 
Deus totes dames beneie. 
She like a woman does, 
And in so doing does well too; 
For under heaven none so brave to do 
As woman whom her own heart drives to 

When God hath willed she for herself 
must sue ; 
God bless the ladies all ! 


Along the hills the veils of cloudage lie. 

And cast their shadows on the crags and rocks; 

Adown the valley, shrill, a v^rild hawk's cry. 
And tinkle, tinkle of the browsing flocks. 

The stately corn bows in the fragrant breeze. 

And faery ripples run along the wheat; 
The yearning Dryads murmur from the trees. 

And wilding perfumes steal from each retreat. 

Beneath the hills the little streamlet flows. 

Now deep and still, with pines upon its breast ; 

Now fierce and strong, through mighty rocks it goes 
To seek the sunset rivers of the West. 

Oh, Springtime makes the heart's blood wilder flow ; 

Oh, Summer tints with rose the somber days; 
While Winter comes with cheer and ruddy glow; 

But A\ituTnn'9 day — oh^ day of all the days! 

Edwin Wiley, 

Digitized by 

Google ! 




By John Trotwood Moore 

The lost opportunity at Chicka- 
mauga might yet have been retrieved 
at Chattanooga had not the Fate of the 
Southern Confederacy arrived on the 
scene in the person of U. S. Grant. 

Bragg, after 
Chickamauga, shut 
the Yankee army 
up in their trap 
a t Chattanooga 
(or rather stop- 
ped up the holes 
in which they had 
shut themselves) 
and with that su- 
perb belief that 
the Almighty was, 
of course, always 
for the Cause, and 
with that complete 
indifference to that 
element in war- 
fare so essential 
to success, known 
by the common 
name of Time, 
the Southern Gen- 
eral sat around 
the hole as self- 
satisfied and as si- 
lent as a cat in a 
bam loft, for full 
two good, pre- 
cious months, un- 
til one day, to his 
eternal astonish- 
ment, there emerged from that hole, 
not the old, g^ay, doubting and errat- 
ic rat named Rosecrans, who had scut- 
tled in two months before so badly 
whipped that he scarcely knew which 


hole-in-the-ground was his, but a 
bobbed-off, scrap-htmgry bull-terrier, 
who, from downright failure as a house 
pet, had suddenly found that fighting 
was his forte, and had gradually and 
gloriously emerg- 
ed from the mon- 
grel lot of incom- 
petents above him, 
to be the first real 
good thing Old 
Abe had discov- 

And as I said, 
the Fate of the 

Two g^eat bat- 
tles are never 
fought on the 
same field at the 
same time by the 
same armies. The 
reason is obvious. 
And so Chatta- 
nooga was to 
what Nashville 
was to Franklin — 
a half fight by a 
half - destroyed 
army, up against 
another one that 
had been recouped, 
regeneraled, re- 
fed, and was ever- 
lastingly ready. 
When I visited the battlefield more 
than a third of a century after the 
fight, it was evidently a different Chat- 
tanooga from the straggling village 
under the mountain which Grant first 

Digitized by 




saw in October, 1863, when the Wash- 
ington authorities ordered him to hur- 
ry there, take charge of things and 
save the army from its own generals. 

In all the South there is no more 
picturesque city and, I am told, few 
more prosperous or with a greater fu- 
ture. Its highways are beautiful and 
whether one winds up to the summit 
of Lookout Mountain, or down in the 
valleys around, or over the health- 
laden hills of Missionary Ridge, the 
beautiful and the picturesque are ever 
uppermost. There are no highways of 
the South more interesting in natural 
grandeur, as well as the historic. 

There was one broad stratum in the 
mind of Abraham Lincoln which won 
for his cause ultimate success — ^he 
gauged his generals by their success. If 
they failed he asked them to step down 
and out. McOellan, Bumside, Hook- 
err- the list runs on even to Rosecrans. 
And after Chickamauga, Rosecrans 

•Not so with Jefferson Davis. A 
stubborn and iron friend, a brave sol- 
dier, a patriot and a pure man, yet he 
lacked the breadth for the gjeat and 
trying office he held. It was not his 
fault — God made the angle between 
the two orbs of his brain the angle of 
the acute. Old soldiers tell me that 
Bragg was one of his favorites. That 
is human — we all have our favorites — 
our friends. Where he missed it was 
in fighting battles on friendship. Aft- 
er Chickamauga, Bragg, like Rose- 
crans, should have gone the way of the 
incompetent. Instead, we find For- 
rest, the greatest cavalry genius of 
the Confederacy, transferred to other 
fields, and Bragg retained to finish the 
catastrophe already begun when he 
failed to follow up the victory of Sep- 
tember 20th. "General Grant is drink- 
ing too much whisky," said one of 
Abe's advisers to the President. "I 
wish you'd find out the brand he is 
drinking," was the twinkling reply, "I 
want to send a barrel of it to some of 
my other generals." 

So Grant and his extra barrels went 
on to Chattanooga, and this tale is 
soon told. 

Never was the Union army in more 
desperate straits for a full month aft- 
er September 20th and before Grant 
arrived to take charge. At any time 
within thirty days, a real general could 
have taken the city and captured the 
half-starved army cooped up there. 
Bragg's idea was to starve them out. 
He evidently did not know how long 
fighting men can live without sufficient 
food. He had Rosecrans' army prac- 
tically at his mercy, and Grant says 
when he arrived they did not have am- 
munition enough for a day's fight, and 
in his report to Mr. Davis, Bragg says 
of the enemy : 

"Possessed of the shortest route to 
his depot and the one by which rein- 
forcements must reach him we held 
him at our mercy and his destruction 
was only a question of time." 

And like many another spendthrift, 
he squandered this available asset and 
awoke too late to find it transferred to 
the coffers of his enemy. 

He had Rosecrans penned up, par- 
alyzed and helpless, but Grant was of 
another stamp. The latter tells how 
when he arrived at Bridgeport, Rose- 
crans came to his car and told him all 
about how it could be done— "made 
some excellent suggestions," said 
Grant; and then the future president 
naively remarks: "My only wonder 
was that he had not carried them out." 

But Grant began to carry them out, 
and it is the most interesting reading 
in the story of scientific warfare, his 
unraveling the balled-up yarn left him 
by the man who could see things but 
could not carry them out. He ordered 
Hooker to cross the Tennessee at 
Bridgeport and march to Brown's 
Ferry. He ordered Palmer with an 
army corps to follow and back him up ; 
he laid pontoon bridges to connect his 
army ; he opened the river from Look- 
out Mountain to Bridgeport. This 
tapped his line to Nashville and then 
there was poured in to him in unstint- 
ed quantities the provisions which 
Bragg thought never could be gotten 
and on the lack of which the Confed- 
erate leader was relying for victory. 

Bragg made the mistake of think- 

Digitized by 




ing that battles could be won by sub- 
traction instead of addition ; by elimi- 
nation instead of substitution; by 
bread instead of bullets. Like the 
Irishman who was gradually teaching 
his horse to live on nothing, by the 
time the lesson was learned the horse 
was dead. 

There was a month to this story — 
from October 22d, when Grant ar- 
rived, to November 23, 24, 25, when, 
taking the offensive, he swept out 
from his fortifications and the blood 
and courage and devotion of Chicka- 
mauga went to naught. 

It is interesting to stand, as I stood, 
on Loojcout Mountain many years aft- 
erward and see how it was done. Even 
where I stood occurred the so-called 
"Battle above the Clouds," and as far 
as the eye could see it rested on spots 
made heroic by the courage of the 
blue and the gray. 

Looking at the fruitlessness of it all, 
it seems that even the bitterest enemy 
would admire and pity the Confed- 
erate soldier. He had not a dog's 
chance — ^that went with Donelson, Shi- 
loh and Vicksburg. The country he 
fought for could not feed him, arm 
him, nor clothe him, and yet a richer, 
fairer or fuller country never lay back 
of a fighting man. The South was de- 
feated, not from lack of men, but from 
lack of food and equipment. What a 
strange and incongruous situation! 
When the war ended the South was 
full of men, and cotton bales and bacon 
and com in unlimited quantities were 
in out-of-the-way places. It is gener- 
ally estimated that first and last six 
to eight hundred thousand Southern- 
ers went to the war, but the census of 
1870, five years afterwards, shows 
there was a white population in the 
South of 8,854,816, fully 1,000,000 
of which were men, and yet the 
South was defeated for lack of men, 
they say. They were driven out of 
ranks by lack of food and clothes and 
back to their homes with heart-sick- 
ness, and those who would have gone 
to the front were estopped by the 
bloody and barren victories extending 
from Donelson to Franklin, 

According to General Grant, Bragg 
made three great blunders: "The 
victory of Chattanooga," says the Fed- 
eral commander in his "Memoirs," was 
won against great odds, considering the 
advantage the enemy had in position ; 
and was accomplished more easily than 
was expected by reason of Bragg mak- 
ing several grave mistakes: first, in 
sending away his ablest corps com- 
mander with 20,000 troops; second, 
in sending away a division of troops 
on the eve of battle; third, in press- 
ing so much of a force on the plain 
in front of his impregnable position." 

These, indeed, were g^ave errors, 
contrary to the rules of good general- 
ship. Bragg sent Longstreet to Knox- 
ville to attack and destroy Burnside. 
In this he had some excuse, for he be- 
lieved he had the Yankees cornered in 
Chattanooga, and that Longstreet 
would destroy Burnside and get back 
in time to help him bag the principal 
game. The unknown quantity on 
which he failed to count was the fact 
that Grant and not Rosecrans was now 
in command at Chattanooga. 

Rosecrans would have dallied and 
waited, but when Grant knew of Bum- 
side's peril and the withdrawal of the 
best corps of Bragg's army, he, with 
true military genius, assumed the of- 
fensive, attacked Bragg when his army 
was thus weakened, and in a three 
days' fight, which was both pictur- 
esque and bloody, he drove him from 
position after position, in spite of the 
heroic bravery of his troops, who did 
all that men could do, but were pow- 
erless in the hands of that fate of in- 
competency which had been their lot 
from Donelson to Chickamauea. 

The dice of fate can nowhere show 
so great a chance as was the South's, 
followed by so signal a failure. Nor 
can the records of war show a more 
heroic battle against hunger, fate and 
foe than those who fought it wearing 
the gray. Going into the war to fight 
for the principles of Anglo-Saxon self- 
government — the right of the people 
to govern themselves and conduct their 
own affairs — the most sacred and in- 
alienable right of mankind — they found 

Digitized by 




the moral conscience, the great decid- 
ing factor of the world against them, 
tied, as they were, to the dead body of 
the cursed slavery — a sin, not of their 
fathers, but of the centuries. Pos- 
sessed of a country so fertile that it 
could have fed an army of a million 
men for unlimited years, they were 
starved and made naked and brought 
down to the stretches of death, with 
scarcely a decent gun to repel the in- 

vain and their hungry shuttles rotted 
in rust. In every great decisive bat- 
tle of the West, whenever called on to 
do or die — Donelson, Shiloh, Stone 
River, Chickamauga, Perryville, At- 
lanta, Franklin — they would arise in 
their rags and wrath and with faith 
sublime and courage unequaled drive 
back their foe, only to fall victims at 
the next turn to the ignorance, conceit 
and incompetency of the men an un- 


vader. And with the most peerless 
staple in the world in their possession 
— a staple on which 'Jie very naked- 
ness of mankind relied for covering 
and whose yearly value to this one 
favored strip of the belted zone, bound- 
ed between a wheat-field and a cotton- 
blossom, brought in more good 
gold than all the gold mines of the 
country — ^by short-sightedness and fol- 
ly they beheld it shut up in their ports 
and rotting in their fields while the 
looms of the world cried for it in 

swerving fate had placed over them 
for taskmasters. 

Sent to the fields in butternuts, 
jeans and rags, behind them millions 
of slaves, enough to have fed the 
armies of the world, faithful and true 
to their masters and working in field 
and loom to feed and clothe them in 
vain ; conscripted "as long as the war 
shall last," drained to the last man, 
winnowed from the cradle to the grave, 
they fought as long as the flag floated, 
a total number of 600,000 against 2,- 

Digitized by 




800,000, going up against, not alone 
their known foe which they started out 
to fight, but the well-fed, instinct-bred 
fighting man of Europe, landed by the 
thousands to better their conditions in 
a country of war and rapine, and sent 
to the front to fight as soon as they 
landed. Starved, killed and forced to 
surrender, the remnant went back to 
their desolated homes, surrendering in 
the ple4ge of good faith, only to find 
that pledge broken by the powers 
which, bereft of its great head and 
heart, the immortal Lincoln, began a 
reconstruction of hate. In this, their 
most cherished principle was that a 
black skin was better than a Southern 
white one and the most beautiful 
picture hung on the wall of their fame 
was that of the black heel on the white 
neck. And this from descendants of 
the Dutch traders who sold these 
slaves to the South, and the children 
of the Puritan who sold captured In- 
dians into slavery, "because it be 
gaynef ull pillage for us !" 

A few years ago the British fought 
and overpowered by numbers a brave 
race of white people who had made a 
civilization in one of the darkest spots 
of Africa ; but to-day one of the brav- 
est of the Boer generals fills one of 
the most important offices in the Eng- 
lish Government and the sons of the 
Boers govern untrammeled in the land 
of their birth. 

In this enlightened land, the home 
of the free — under the spell of recon- 
struction every Boer would have been 
disfranchised and naked Kaffir heels 
been placed on his neck. 

And still we wonder why England 
is great. Ask Canada, Australia. 
Ask the white folks of her colonies 
which circle the globe. Their prog- 
ress is the story of a self-governing 

And in spite of all that, what mar- 
velous things have these unconquered 
people of the South done! For into 
their land has come no immigrant, no 
outside help, and the blood that has 
builded up the new South to her pres- 
ent great heights is the same that 
fought the battles of the Revolution, 

gave to the Union every foot of land 
acquired up to Alaska, the same that 
fought at Chickamauga — ^the home- 
loving, independent, conservative-bom, 
moral-loving blood of the Anglo-Gelt 
— the people of Runnymcde and Meck- 

And as I stood on the top of Look- 
out Mountain and beheld the field where 
was fought the Battle above the Oouds, 
I looked down on the beautiful city 
at my feet, a living, furnace-framed, 
smoke-breathed, factory-pulsing, com- 
merce-thumping body of the new 
South, a swarthy representative 6f 
what the unconquering soul of the 
Southerner had done. Here, where 
contending armies had striven for their 
rights not half a century before — ^what 
a change has come over the dream of 
their desire — ^a change, I am bound to 
admit, made possible by defeat. Fac- 
ing starvation then, to-day the South 
has more than doubled that staple un- 
til Europe alone pours, daily, at her 
feet, the amazing tribute of over one 
million gold dollars for the privilege of 
her looms. And with the doubling of 
her cottctti crop she has doubled her 
exports and her assessed property. 
Then, there was scarcely in all her 
borders, the smokestack of a factory 
to be found. New England mills wove 
all the fabric of her fields, and her iron 
and her coal lay dead in dreamless 
mines. To-day, thousands of spin- 
dles hum where primeval silence 
reigned, and thousands of furnaces 
light up the night where once shone 
only the garish stars. In her mills she 
consumes now more cotton than New 
England and the rest of the country, 
and the furnaces of Alabama alone 
are the despair of Pittsburg trust mak- 
ers and the glory of the rest of the 
world. Every product of her homes, 
her fields, her forests, her mines, her 
mills, and even the brains of her folks, 
reads like a multiplication table; be- 
ginning with the doubling of her cot- 
ton crop in the past decade and a half 
alone, the trebling of her manufac- 
turing products, her railroad mileage 
and her farms; multiplying by five 
her lumber; by six, her capital; by 

Digitized by 




eight, her pig iron ; by nine, her phos- 
phate; by ten, her cotton bales con- 
sumed; by eleven, her money in cot- 
ton mills; by twelve, her tons of 
mined coal ; by fourteen, her spindles ; 
by sixteen, her coke ; by seventeen, her 
cotton mills; by eighteen, her capital 
in them I 

The mind cannot grasp these fig- 
ures at random, but it may remember 
the story of the man who, not know- 
ing the force of simple progression, 
offered -a blacksmith one cent for the 
first nail in the shoe; two cents for 
the second; four cents for the third; 
eight cents for the fourth, and so on 
to the last nail of the four shoes to 

find that his bill to the blacksmith ran 
into the millions. 

From the dreamy, conservative life 
of the cotton planter — the sky dream- 
ing above him, men and women dream- 
ing with him, and the hidden, inex- 
haustible world products dreaming be- 
neath — ^the South has suddenly been 
turned into the forge of a blacksmith 
and the plant of a loom where the iron 
steeds of commerce must come to be 
shod and the ships of the world must 
come for their wings. 

[The next Historic Highway will be tbe ao- 
oonnt of the capture of gunboats by Forrest's 
cavalry, the only time lo the history of warfare. 
It is sald» that it was ever done.] 


By Robert L. Taylor 


IT is natural when we read of the 
deeds of heroes to want to know 
somewhat of the ancestry and 
training of those brave fellows who 
can plan and execute bold feats which 
are amazing in that they come from 
the unschooled, whom nature has 
endowed with that greatest of 
all g^fts, the gift of good sense. 
But inquiry is not always re- 
warded by tfie finding of a long roll 
of illustrious lineage nor careful train- 
mg in the duties of a hero. It is part 
of God's great plan of equalization to 
raise from the blackness of the nether- 
most obscurity names which shine 
upon the scroll of fame with luster 
undimmed by the proximity of those 
bom to greatness. We expect men 
like Lee and Washington and Perry 
and Dewey to do great deeds, for it 
was part of their education to study 
the heroic performances of their for- 
bears, and the nobility of their names 
carried the obligation of self-forget- 
ting; but the historian who seeks for 

the mainspring of heroism in the 
"unknown great" finds it proceeds 
sometimes from emulation of the ex- 
ploits of which the backwoods boy in 
his youth had earnestly read by the 
pine knot fire ; sometimes he finds no 
trace of earnestness or study, but 
merely a shiftless, dreamy boyhood, 
whose youth gave no hint of achieve- 
ment. Without exception, however, 
it will be found that every man who 
has risen above his fellows in courage 
or heroism had a mother of unusual 
force of character, for, after all, hero- 
ism and courage are spiritual quali- 
ties, and these are practiced by wom- 
an in her daily life, finding recognized 
expression mainly through the deeds 
of her sons. Read the histories of 
Washington, of Lee, of Jackson, of 
Davis, and you will find they were 
favorite sons of their mothers, that 
the bond between them and their 
mothers was unusually strong. Read 
the account of Bedford Forrest's 
mother being attacked by a catamount 

Digitized by 




as she rode through the woods with 
a sack of "gyarden truck" for a 
sick neighbor and a child before 
her on her horse. With no wea- 
pon but her bare fists she van- 
quished the attacking beast and calmly 
continued her errand of mercy. We 
see, then, that it was only a develop- 
ment under opportunity that won for 
the son of this magnificent woman the 
sobriquet of "Wizard of the Saddle." 

Such a mother's son, we may rest 
assured, was William Jasper. To-day 
every schoolchild knows him as the 
daring "Sergeant Jasper," who leaped 
through an embrasure in the ramparts 
at Fort Moultrie under a shower of can- 
non balls, recovered and replaced the 
flag of South Carolina, whose staflf had 
been shot to pieces. Few know of his 
subsequent record, and none knows 
his life previous to that one deed. 
That he asserted himself a native of 
the colony and twenty-six years of age 
when he enlisted in the Second South 
Carolina Regiment in 1776, is all that 
is known of him. So little did he con- 
cern himself with being a hero that 
he never hedged himself about with 
the divine exclusiveness through 
which items of important knowledge 
filter mysteriously, but certainly. Nor 
in the hard, rough life of the common 
soldier of that time did he claim the 
place of leading braggart which might 
have been his, but as he had lived his 
life so unobtrusively and simply be- 
fore becoming a hero that no one of 
any importance knew any of its in- 
cidents, so among his comrades 
around the camp fire he bore himself 
as a small part of the g^eat whole. 
And when the governor of the colony 
sent for him and in the absence of 
means to make medals or gift swords, 
offered him his own official blade, the 
richest gift within his power, the sim- 
ple fellow said: "No; what can I do 
with the jeweled weapon which re- 
cently signified a royal honor be- 
stowed upon Governor Rutledge ? Can 
I wield it more effectively than my 
own trusty bayonet?" 

"But," urged the governor, "we will 
make you a lieutenant and promote 
you to higher office as occasion of- 

fers, and such a sword will befit youf 
rank as well as your deeds." 

"Nay," was the sturdy reply. "I am 
but a yeoman and have done what 
any of my comrades would have done. 
I can neither read nor write, and 
would feel but ill in the company of 
the officers." 

The news of this renunciation gave 
Sergeant Jasper a warm place in the 
hearts of the soldiers, and his com- 
mander, Colonel Moultrie, appreciat- 
ing this, and knowing he could de- 
pend upon his cool judgment and 
dashing bravery, gave him a roving 
commission to scour the country with 
a small band, surprising and captur- 
ing the enemy's outposts, making 
night attacks on small camps and har- 
rying and worrying the British after 
the fashion of Marion, the "Swamp 
Fox" — a fashion new to them, 
and one which they never learned to 
incorporate in their routine of war. 

Jasper's achievements with his lit- 
tle company equal any recorded in 
Revolutionary annals, but as his men 
were few and his attacks consequently 
confined to the smaller bodies of the 
enemy, none of them brought him into 
the limelight, and it might have been 
thought that his deed at Fort Moul- 
trie would be the solitary shining spot 
in an obscure career. Yet, in 1778, 
scouring the forests with a single com- 
panion, he came upon a party of Brit- 
ish soldiers, some eight or ten, bearing 
four American prisoners to headquar- 
ters, and by dint of making a great 
' noise in the underbrush and rapid fir- 
ing from its cover, turned the tables 
completely, and marched the British 
to prison. 

The Colonial successes in the South 
were disheartening to the British, 
knowing as they did that their forces 
were superior in numbers, equipment 
and military knowledge. By all the 
laws of the science of war they ought 
to have had no trouble in spanking a 
refractory little colony into repentance 
and subsequent obedience. But the 
problems that worked out so smoothly 
in the ministry meetings at home and 
were O. K.'d so readily in the camp 
conclaves of Howe and Comwallis, 

Digitized by 




had a disappointing way of failing 
of the assured result when interfered 
with by the gaunt, elusive patriots. 
The attack upon Savannah was real- 
ized by both sides as a desperate re- 
sort. Each assembled all the forces 
available, and in the course of the ex- 
press rider's rounds Sergeant Jasper 
received a summons to leave his 
greenwood stronghold and join the 
/command of General Lincoln. No 
thought of the sacrifice of his practi- 
cally independent command for a re- 
duction to the ranks entered his head. 
With his wild-looking band of follow- 
ers he repaired with all possible speed 
to headquarters. This man had, it 
would seem, but one rule of conduct, 
and that was the immediate perform- 
ance of every duty that presented it- 
self and to do it in the simplest way 
possible. For the rest, he never lolled 
nor lagged nor waited for opportunity 
to dig him out, but held himself always 
alert and ready to meet with a quick- 
ness which resembled a feminine intui- 

tion, any condition which cbnfronted 

On October ninth, he was in the 
column which, under General Lincoln 
and the noble D'Estaing, attacked the 
Spring Hill redoubt. Seeing the tide 
of battle at the flood, and ready to be 
turned, the valiant sergeant seized the 
regimental colors and scaling the 
parapet, planted them aloft. Alas! 
The bravery which had carried him 
>unscathed through a worse fire at 
Moultrie availed him naught here. A 
ball struck him down even as he fixed 
the ensign in place, and the gallant 
fellow was removed forever from the 
field of golden deeds, to be henceforth 
a glorious name high up on the scroll 
of heroes. Uneducated, uncouth, with- 
out the natural gifts which sometimes 
polish a man deficient in opportunities, 
surely the truth was spoken of Ser- 
geant Jasper when it was said of old : 
''Every man is eloquent in that which 
he understands." 


By William McDonald Goodman 

*HERE the stories 
came from no one 
could tell. That a 
large number could 
be crowded into the 
head of one fairly 
intelligent Southern 
darky of the old 
school was a well- 
known fact, but it 
did not explain the 
case in question. Everything that 
happened— every spot on which his 
eyes rested for a moment, the chirp of 
a cricket, the hop of a toad, the hum 
of a bee, the hoot of an owl, the cry 
of a whippoorwill, the 'possum-hunt- 
er's torch and horn, the howl of a dog 

— any one of these sights or sounds 
served to remind Uncle Adam of a 
"ha'nt tale," the telling of which was 
a specialty in which he excelled. 

He came into the kitchen one even- 
ing where Aunt Martha was washing 
dishes and "runnin' on" about various 
things for the entertainment of little 
Lucia and Johnny — "young marster's 
chilluns" — and piling an armful of 
stovewood in the corner, he observed : 

*T wuz a-settin' out yonder des 
awhile ago, a-tryin' to git myse'f on 
de outside uv a fifty-poun* watermillin 
whut me en Marse Bob raise in dat 
patch er his'n, en ez I happen fer to 
look over on de hill at de lights in 
dat big residince whut dat 'ar Mister 

Digitized by 




Whatchegtiame's des built, a tale pop 
into my head whut ain't b'en dar in so 
long I done fergot wharbouts I fus' 
heerd it. I sho' is got to tell dat 'ar 
tale to somebody befo' I fergits it oflP*n 
my mine agin." 

"I bet I kin tell you two things 
'bout dat tale befo' you staht," said 
Aunt Martha. 

"Let's hear 'um den," he requested. 

"Well, in de fus' place, de tale's a 
ha'nt tale," she asserted. 

"Glad I didn't bet wid you," he re- 
plied. "You hit it de fus' pop. Whut 

"De nex' is dat dar's a nigger mix' 
up wid it." 

"You done heerd de tale!" he ex- 
claimed, grinning delightedly. 

"Naw, I ain't I des know dat no 
tale but a ha'nt tale gwine take up 
wid you atter dark, en no ha'nt tale 
gwine to set des right wid you 'less'n 
dar's a skeerd nigger in it." 

"Aun' Marthy," he observed, "you 
oughter be President er dese here 
Nuniten States. You is sho' got de 
head fer to keep de gov'ment bocJcs." 

"Le's hear de tale," she said. 

"Well, ez de tale come to me — ^now 
here dem chilluns a-pilin' up on my lap 
so's I cayn't git my bref — ez de lalc 
come to me, hit seemed lak one time a 
man own a big mansion house, set 
way up in a big yahd on a hill, w~hat 
uz so full uv sperrits dat nobody would 
live in it, en it 6tay dar 'long wid 
its bunch er ha'nts twell de man die, 
makin' one ha'nt mo', en den dey 
foun' dat de man had lef de house 
en grounds in his will to de state 
whar he live in, to be use' fer a 'sylum 
fer crazy folks. Dat how de tale go, 
en it keep gwine twell de house is turn 
into a big 'sylum en is filled wid luna- 
tics ez well ez ghostes ; en dar you is." 

"Naw, I ain't dar," she exclaimed, 
"en ef de good Lawd'U spare me, I 
ain't gwine be dar." 

"Well," he continued, laughing, 
"hit seem lak de man whut run de 
place ain't skeerd, but I dunno how 
come dat, 'less'n it's kaze folks what 
kin put up wid crazy people kin stan* 
anything. It went on, it did, twell 
one day a nigger man whut wuz a 

stranger 'roun' dar, walk up en ax 
one er de men fer a job. De man 
say he b'lieve he got all de he'p he 
need. Nigger say he des got to have 
work dar, no matter how little de pay 
is. Dad-jim his fool hide, he didn't 
know what kinder double-barrel hark- 
f'um-de-tomb he tryin' to break into. 
All he know wuz dat a hongry nigger 
smell ham fryin'." 

The old darky paused, shook his 
head, laughed, and then sang out as 
he danced little Johnny on his knee — 

"Mister Zooks! Mister Zooks! 
I'm a-comin'. Mister Zooks!" 

"Who Mister Zooks?" Aunt Mar- 
tha inquired. "Ef he de man what 
run de 'sylum, I guess he callin' you." 

"I ain't crazy," he answered. 

"You talk like you is." 

"Well, I ain*t. Mister Zooks is de 
highmucklemuck er dis tale. He don't 
come in des here, but he on my mine 
so strong dat I hatter inter juce him." 

"Funny way to do it," she averred. 

"Not nigh ez funny ez it might be," 
he replied. "Ef I should rise en say, 
'Mister Zooks, 'low me to persent you 
to Miss Marthy,' en dis yer Mister 
Zooks should step up en make er bow, 
Marse Bob would hatter sen' fer de 
carpenters to build up whut a fat nig- 
ger 'oman tore down. You wouldn't 
wait to git de do' open — ^you'd make 
a do' w"haruver you hit de side de 
house. 'Sides dat, ef Mister Zooks. 
er any uv his fambly wuz here, I'd 
be some'rs else." 

"Go on wid de tale," she com- 

"Dat what I doin' when you come 
er 'sturbin' me en Johnny wid yo' in- 
terrupshuns. De man at de 'sylum 
he hired dat nigger fer his bo'd en 
clo'es, but de bo'd 'uz all he got, fer he 
lef his clo'es behin' when he th'owed 
up de job. He hired de nigger, he 
did, ez a sorter man uv all work 'routi' 
de place. Fus' day he mowed weeds 
in de yard. Dat 'uz all right. Second 
day he clean out de stables. Dat 'uz 
all right, too. Thu'd day he mop de 
flo's. En right dar de trouble begin." 

"Han'ts don't show deyse'f in day- 
light," Aunt Martha observed, argu- 

Digitized by 




"Nobody ain't say dey showed dey- 
se'f in daylight," he answered. "I 
ain't say nothin' 'bout han'ts. I say 
dat's whar de trouble begin. En it 
did. De nigger he scrub de flo's. 
Crazy folks out fer a walk, en he feel 
putty free, but he b'en pestered in his 
mine uver sence he foun' out what 
kinder place he stayin' at. He done 
fix it up in his head dat de fus' time 
he kin git a good- runnin' start he 
gwineter resign. He scrub de flo's, 
he did, en atter while he come to a 
long, wide hall, en fix fer to scrub 
dat. Den he hear sump'n. Hit down 
to'ds de yuther en' er de buildin'. He 
liss'n, en fus' thing he know he see 
what make de noise. He lode down de 
hall en see a crazy 'oman runnin' to'ds 
him. He set down his bucket en broom 
en ra'r back on his hocks ready to do 
de bird ack. Den he heerd de 'oman 

" 'Mister Zooks ! Mister Zooks ! I'm 
a-comin', Mister Zooks !* 

"He thought she talkin' to him at 
fus', en sorter sidle back agin de wall. 
But she come on, lookin' straight 
ahead. Den she stop en look lak 
whut she atter done gone. She look 
awhile dis way, she did, en den she 
bus' out cryin' en turn roun' en go 

"It seem lak one time, ez de tale go, 
dis here 'oman wuz in love wid a 
man name Mister Zooks. She love 
him, en he didn't love her. She run 
atter him all de time, en all de time 
he dodge her. You know how it wuz, 
Aun' Marthy — sorter like me en you." 

"I ain't nuver run atter no good- 
fer-nothin' nigger man sence I been 
bawn into dis worl'!" she answered, 
indignantly, but good naturedly. "You 
nee'nter come talkin' no fool talk lak 
dat My name ain't Eve, en ef I uver 
runn'd atter anybody his name wa'nt 

"Well, ez dat happeu to be my 
name, I reckon you don't 'member 
things lak I does. Howsomuver, dat's 
needer here ner dar." 

"You know I ain't nuver run atter 
you, nigger!" she insisted. 

"I ain't sayin' dat you did, ef you 
don't remember it," he replied, sooth- 

ingly. "I'm tryin' to tell de tale whut 
I started out to tell. De 'oman she 
run atter de man, en pester him twell 
he worry hisse'f sick en die. You 
dunno how dat is, but I do." 

"I know you de bigges' fool uver 
raise on dis place," was the scornful 

"I ain't talkin' 'bout dat. I'm tellin' 
how de man worry hisse'f sick en 
die," he continued. "He worry hisse'f 
sick en die, en den de 'oman went 
'stracted en wuz sont to de 'sylum. 
Dat how come things lak dey wuz. 
She landed 'mungst de y'uther crazy 
folks, en Mister Zooks ha'nt it hatter 
run wid birds uv a feather, too, so hit 
jine de ha'nts what been in dat hpuse 
so long. Darfo' en hereby we see 
dat death didn't he'p Mister Zooks 
out'n his troubles. But dat's tellin' de 
tale befo' it begin. 

"De nigger see de way de 'oman 
do dat day, en he didn't like dem kind- 
er capers. De 'oman do 'zackly 
lak she see somebody en try to ketch 
up wid 'urn. Niggex he make up his 
mine dat he gwine leave dat place 
soon ez night come. He think dat'll 
be easy, ez he b'en sleepin' inde barn, 
en de barn do' stay open. Dat night, 
howsumuver, de head man uv de 
'sylum say to de nigger, he did, *I got 
yo' room fixed up at de fur en' er de 
hall, en you won't hatter sleep in de 
barn no mo'.' Nigger say he much 
oblige, but he b'en sleepin' in bams 
all his life, en he wouldn't feel at 
home nowhars else. But de man 'sist 
on him occurpyin' de room, en show 
him to it, en den go out en lock de 
main do' to de buildin'. De winders 
wuz barred wid iron bars. Dar wuz 
de nigger, shet up at night wid crazy 
folks, en he dunno whut else. Dat 
Mister Zooks business wuz buzzin' 
'roun' in his mine, en it don't look lak 
sump'n to laugh at, not by any man- 
ner er means. Well,' when you cayn't 
do no better you mus' do de bes' you 
kin, so de nigger he went to bed. 
He try to lock de do' to de room, but 
de lock done broke. He put a cheer 
agin de do' en try to stay awake en 
watch it. He sleepy at fus', en its 
hard work, but d'reckly he commence 

Digitized by 




to hear some crazy laughs en yells 
Voun' th'oo de house, en den he fer- 
git all about gwine ter sleep, en des 
lay dar watchin' de cheer 'gin de do'. 
He lay dar, he did, en atter so long a 
time he hear a familiarsome soun'. 
'Way down de hall come a-patterin' 
uv feets, en a voice whut say: 

" *Mister Zooks! Mister Zooks ! I'm 
a-comin', Mister Zooks!' 

**He hear dat, en den de fus' thing 
he know de do' flew open, en whut he 
fail to see in de light he seed in de 
night. De do' flew open, en in rush 
de fo'm uv a man so white en clear 
dat he could see plum th'oo him, clo'es 
en all, en de ha'nt, fer dat's whut it 
wuz, jump right in de bed en under 
de bedclose wid de nigger, en it felt 
des like a col' chill. But de nigger 
didn't feel mo' dan de fus' bre.'f er de 
chill. He got no business dar any 
longer dan it take to make a 'stonish- 
in' sort er jump, so out er de bed he 
come en out de do' he went, des ez 
de crazy 'oman come in. She see 
de ha'nt jump in de bed, en she see 
de nigger come* out instinkly wid 
nothin' on 'cep' his underdose, en de 
motions uv bo'f wuz so samer date she 
fail to 'stinguish de diffunce. Darfo' 
she light out atter de nigger, callin': 

" 'Mister Zooks ! Mister Zooks ! I'm 
a-comin', Mister Zooks!' 

"Here dey went — nigger ahead en 
de 'oman behine. He mighty nigh ez 
soon have er ha'nt to ketch him ez a 
crazy 'oman, but he ain't 'tickler 'bout 
which he runnin' fu'm — he des' doin' 
his almighty bes' on gen'ul princer- 
puls. He run, he did, twell he got 
'bout halfway down de hall, en here 
two y'uther crazy 'omans jump out en 
try to stop him, but dey ain't on to de 

job er jumpin' lak he is, so he des 
jump over 'urn en pass on. He come 
to de en' er de hall en here rise fo' 
ha'nts, holdin' out dey long, bony 
arms. It seem lak de y'uther crazy 
folks en de y'uther ha'nts done gone 
in cahoots wid de 'oman fer to help 
ketch her sweet'art." 

''G'way fu'm here!*' Aunt Martha 
exclaimed. '1 say sweet'art." 

''Well, in co'se none uv us is gwine- 
ter try to ketch er sweet'art er dat 
kind," he said, "en it 'ud hatter git 
up soon in de mawnin' to ketch us. 
But dat's how it wuz, es de tale go. 
De crazy folks en de ha'nts sot out fer 
to head off Mister Zooks, en de nigger 
wuz movin' 'roun' so fas' in Mister 
Zooks' place dat dey couldn't tell 'um 
apart. I guess dey thought Mister 
Zooks ack mighty soople en spry in his 
ole age — e — r haw! haw! whoo! I 
gollies, I kin see dat nigger right now ! 
Cayn't you see him, Aun' Marthy? 
Cayn't you des stan' flat-footed en be- 
hol' de capers he cut? Lawd, Lawd! 
Some er dese days I gwineter git to 
thinkin' 'bout dis tale en t'ar sump'n 
a-loose inside er me." 

"Whut de nigger do?" she asked. 

"Whut he do? Well, dar wa'n't but 
one thing in dis here worl' fer him to 
do, en dat wuz to git out'n dar, en ez 
de tale go he manage dat to de 'struck- 
shun er de property soon as he got a 
fair shake at de front do'. Some say 
he des bus' de do' down. Y'uthers 
say part de house went wid it. I 
ain't a-sayin' which wuz de case, en I 
won't sw'ar to nothin' 'cept dat de 
nijsfger changed his new name f'um 
Mister Zooks to Mister Zoon, en 
zooned outer dar same ez one er dese 
ver hummin' birds." 

Digitized by 



Photo by Parker, Marshall 


Marshall. Texas 

Hodges, BHstvl 
Bristol, Virginia 

Digitized by 




pirmin^bam, Alabama 

Digitized by 



photo fry EeJOer, Hot Bprktgs 

HalTern, Arkansafl 

Digitized by 



Digitized by 




I'hotc by Calvert Brother t 


Digitized by 




Digitized by 



By Eron Opha Rowland 

JACKSON, the capital city of the 
State of Mississippi, is situated 
near the central portion of the 
state, and has a population of 
30,000. It has for nearly a century 
been the seat of government, and has 
numbered among its inhabitants many 
men whose culture and learning would 
have made them potent figures in any 
place in which they resided. There 
is, to-day, much culture atjd wealth 
in the city, and State Street, which is 
one of the principal residence streets, 
with its handsome homes and well- 
kept velvety lawns, is one of the love- 
liest in the South. 

The marvelous growth of the city 
during the past few years has excited 
great interest in commercial circles, 
and many large enterprises, which 
will mean much in the future, are con- 
tinually being launched by capitalists. 
A little apart from the business por- 
tion of the dty, occupying a slight 
eminence, the state's new capitol 
building stands, clothed, as it were, in 
a dignity and repose that charm all 
beholders. From every portion of the 
city one catches a glimpse of its mag- 
nificent stone walls, great columns and 
high, white dome, the last Surmounted 
by a shining bronze eagle, whose wide 
extended wings soar out on the soft, 
blue air, measuring sixteen feet from 
tip to tip. 

The story of the building, which is 
the pride of all Mississippians and the 
admiration of visitors from other 
states, has its beginning in that wave 
of prosperity which swept over the 
state a decade ago. The cry for a new 
capitol was heard from every quarter 
of the commonwealth, and so vigor- 

ous did the clamor become that the 
result was the erection of the splen- 
did structure of stone and marble 
which now ornaments the capital city. 

The old capitol occupies handsome 
grounds near the heart of the city, 
and though much dilapidated, is a 
majestic structure. Great oaks cluster 
closely about it, some of which are 
nearly as old, perhaps, as the state 
itself. The building is interwoven 
with the history of Mississippi for 
nearly a century, among the great 
events which have transpired within its 
walls, besides the brilliant inaugurals 
and assemblings of legislative lx>dies, 
being a reception to C^neral Jackson, 
with whom the people of the state 
had so many hopes in common. There 
it was that Colonel Jefferson Davis, 
returning from Mexico, with freshly 
laureled brow, received a great burst 
of applause from an admiring people. 
It was in this same old building, too, 
in after years, that he delivered his 
last public speech amid wilder and 
more tumultuous applause, for, 
"though he had brought them unsuc- 
cess, in the hearts of his countrymen 
he triumphed still." 

The passage of the Ordinance of 
Secession of Mississippi took place 
within these historic walls; and after 
many weary years, full of the bitterness 
and ruthlessness of civil war, the great 
Constitutional Convention, which re- 
stored to the state, and ultimately to 
the whole South, the kindly rule of 
intelligence, assembled there. These, 
and many other soul-stirring incidents 
hallow it in the minds of the peo- 

But to continue in the old building, 

Digitized by 








Digitized by 




notwithstanding their reverence for its 
hoary and honorable age, was to the 
people of this prosperous generation 
like putting new wine into old bottles ; 
so with care and deliberation the work 
on the new building was begun. It 
was erected at the cost of one million 
dollars; a modest sum compared with 
that expended in the erection of some 
buildings; but "graft" had not 
touched this rural people, and every 
workman, contractor and subcontrac- 
tor felt himself individually responsi- 
ble for the outcome. Nothing was 
done hurriedly, and every stone com- 
posing the great building was tested 
by an expert before it was used. 
Theodore C. Link, of St. Louis, was 
the architect, and his son, Karl E. 
Link, with the skill of an artist, 
wrought out the design, which proved 
to be a masterpiece of architecture, 
combining great strength and dignity 
with perfect grace and symmetry. 

The foundations of the building are 
of cement concrete, and on this rests 
the base stones of Georgia granite. 
From this granite base the building 
rises to the height of one hundred and 
thirty-five feet, and is carried out in 
Renaissance style with gray Bedford 
stone. G>stly marbles, among which 
are the black Belgian, Vermont, Ven- 
etian and Italian, enter into the inte- 
rior construction; and while passing 
through its long marble corridors and 
up its graceful marble stairways, one 
readily accepts the truth of the as- 
sertion that this is the most ideal piece 
of architectural work in the South. 

One of the most artistic points of 
. the building is the tympanum, which 
ornaments the pediment of the portico 
of the front entrance, which entrance 
is, perhaps, the most imposing feature 
of the building. The tympanum is 
composed of a group of figures sym- 
bolical of the arts, industries and re- 
sources of the state. There are four- 
teen in all; the principal one, seated 
on a throne, with feet on a cotton bale, 
in the right hand the sword of empire 
and in the left the palm branch, repre- 
sents the great Commonwealth of Mis- 
sissippi. About this the other figures 

are gracefully grouped. The tympa- 
num was designed principally by Dr. 
Paul H. Saunders, of Laurel, Missis- 

The wall of the second floor, near 
the landing, is adorned with three 
handsome stained windows, which rep- 
resent the passing of the aborigines, 
the coming of the Anglo-Saxon and 
the establishment of law and order. 
High up, ornamenting the frieze of 
the great rotunda, are four bas-relief 
faces of Blind Justice, an ancient idea, 
which explains the Pagan's keen sense 
of that Justice which the Christian has 
interpreted as "no respecter of per- 

Every hall, corridor and apartment 
of the great building, the stately 
Legislative halls, the gubernitoriil 
offices and the handsome library, are 
all beautifully and artistically finished. 
On the first floor, which is fast being 
converted into a great storehouse for 
records, the Historical Department is 
established and connected with it is 
the state's Hall of Fame. This is a 
beautiful, classic room, the walls of 
which are adorned with magnificent 
oil portraits of distinguished Missis- 
sippians, who have made the past his- 
tory of the state. The Historical De- 
partment is under the control of a 
number of the most scholarly men of 
the state. 

The dedication of the new Capitol 
occurred on the 3d of June, 1903, the 
birthday of Jefferson Davis, and the 
exercises were, perhaps, the most im- 
posing ever witnessed in the state. A 
special number of the Times-Demo- 
crat, of New Orleans, was given up 
to the description and the publication 
of speeches made by Bishop Charles 
B. Galloway and Chief Justice Albert 
Hall Whitfield. 

The grounds around the capitol are, 
as yet, in a state of transition; but 
hundreds of handsome young trees 
from the great forests of Mississippi 
have been transplanted there, and it 
will be but a short while when the 
g-orgeous magnolia and stately live- 
oak will bury in cool shadow the broad 
concrete walks and approaches. 

Digitized by 




By Kate Trimble Sharber 

July 20. — Did you ever think what a 
dear old thing anybody's black mammy 
is, my diary, especially when she's done 
all the cooking and raised you for 
twenty-five years? Mammy Lou has 
belonged to us just like Pa and Ma 
ever since weVe been at housekeep- 
ing, and my heart almost breaks to- 
night when I think of the fire in our 
stove that won't burn, and the dasher 
in our chum that is still. Ever since 
I have kept a diary I have been awful 
glad to hear about anybody being in 
love, and took great pleasure in watch- 
ing them and writing it all out, for I 
could always imagine it was me that 
was the lady. But I would rather 
never keep a diary another day than 
to have had such a thing ha^nen to 
Mammy Lou. 

When Ma heard about it she said 
not to be an old fool, but Mammy Lou 
said "either Marse Shakespeare or 
Marse Solomom said a old fool was 
the biggest fool, and she wasn't goin' 
to make him out a lie. So marry that 
Yankee nigger she was !" 

Bill Williams first came here to 
teach school, being very proud and 
educated. Then he got to be Dilsey's 
beau, and they expected to marry. 
When he first commenced going to 
see Dilsey, Mammy Lou would cook 
the nicest kind of things for her to 
take to picnics, hooingr to help her 
catch him in a motherly way. But 
when he started to promising to give 
Dilsev a rocking chair, and take her 
to "George Washington" if she would 
marry him. Mammy Lou changed 
about. She had always wanted to 
see a large city herself, and she 
thought it wasn't any use of letting 

Dilsey get all the best things in life 
even if she was her child. 

Pretty soon she commenced wear- 
ing red ribbon around her neck and 
having her hair wrapped once a week. 
Then she told him that she was the 
good cook that cooked all the picnic 
things and ironed all of Dilsey's nice 
dresses ; also that she had seventy-five 
dollars saved up which she would be 
willing to spend on a grand bridal 
trip the next time she got married. 
Mammy Lou is a smart old thing, and 
she talked to him until he said all 
right, he would just as soon marry her 
as Dilsey, if she would stop codcing 
for us and just cook for him and iron 
his shirts. She promised him she 
would do this, like people always do 
when they're trying to marry a per- 
son, though it looks very different 
afterwards. None of Mammy's other 
husbands have ever been so proud. 
They would not only let her cook, but 
would come around at meal-time, in 
the friendliest kind of way, and help 
her draw a bucket of water. This is 
why the whole family's heart is break- 
ing and we feel so hungry to-night. 
She's quit, and the wedding is to- * 

July 21. — ^This morning early she 
came up to the house to ask Ma if it 
would be excusable to take off her 
widow's bonnet, not being divorced 
from Uncle Mose but four months;* 
also how she had better carry her 
money to keep him from getting a 
hold of it. She said she wouldn't trust 
any white Yankee with a half-dollar 
that she ever saw, much less a coffee- 
colored one. Ma was so mad at her 
and so troubled about the sad biscuits 

Digitized by 




and the watery gravy at breakfast 
that she said she hoped he would 
steal every cent of the seventy-five 
dollars before the ceremony was over 
and that would bringf Mammy Lou to 
her senses. 

"And me not get to go to George 
Washington?" Mammy said in a hurt- 
like voice ; "why, Mis? Mary !" 

"Where is this George Washing- 
ton?" Ma took time to ask, thinking 
Mammy would know she was pdcing 
fun at her, but she didn't. 

"Law! I didn't know my white 
folks did know such a little until I got 
a school teacher. It's where the Presi- 
dent and his wife lives. Mr. Wil- 
liams is mighty well acquainted with 
the President, and says he is certain 
I could get a place to cook for the 
family, only I ain't to cook for nobody 
but him from now on." 

Ma wouldn't encourage her to talk 
about her love and matrimony any, so 
she took me by the hand and we went 
out and sat on the kitchen doorstep 
and had a long conversation. She 
seemed sad at the notion of leaving . 
us, but she was so much delighted at 
the idea of marrying a young man, as 
anybody would be, and going to 
Washington that she could not think 
of giving that up. Pretty soon in our 
long talk she commenced telling me 
about the things that happened a long 
time ago when I was a child, like peo- 
ple do when they are going on a long 
journey or die. 

She began from the time I was born 
and said I was such a brown little 
thing that I always looked like I had 
tobacco- juice instead of blood run- 
ning through me. And I made use 
of a bottle until* I was four years 
old. Because I was the only one of 
Ma's and Pa's children that lived and 
was bom like Isaac (/ don't know of 
any special way that Isaac was bom, 
but two of Mammy's husbands have 
been preachers, so she knows what 
she's talking about) they let me keep 
the bottle to humor me. It had a long 
mbber thing to it so I would find it 
more convenient. Mammy said the 
old muley cow was laid aside just for 
my benefit, and when I got big enough 

to walk I'd go with her into the cow 
lot every hour in the day and drag 
my bottle behind me to be milked 
into. I enjoyed being milked into my 
mouth, too, if the bottle was too dirty 
to hold it just then. 

Mammy said I always admired the 
sunshine so much that I would sit out 
in it on hot days till my milk bottle 
would clabber, which was one cause 
of my brownness. When I found out 
I couldn't gnaw an)rthing up through 
the mbber I'd cry and take it to Mam- 
my. She would quiet me by digging 
all the clabber out with a stiff little 
twig which she would feed to the 
chickens. They got to knowing the 
sound of me and my bottle dragging 
over the gravels so well that they 
would come a-mnning, like they do 
when they hear you scrape the plates. 

This, of course, was very touching 
to us both, and we nearly cried when 
she talked about going to Washington, 
where all the people are too stylish 
to keep a muley cow. They won't 
even keep a baby there, but the ladies 
keep little dogs and get divorces. 

Ma wouldn't go to the wedding, 
for dinner and supper was worse than 
breakfast. The rest of the family all 
went except Dilsey, who didn't much 
like the way Mammy had done her. 
Professor and Mrs. Young went, being 
still down here and a great pleasure 
to us all. They were delighted, being 
raised up North, and wanted to take 
pictures of everything. Whenever we 
would pass a cabin with a nigger and 
his guitar sitting in the front door, 
and him picking on it, they would say 
it was so "picture S." And the real 
old uncles with white hair, and the 
mammies with their heads tied up, 
they said reminded them of "Aunty 
Bellum days." I guess she was their 
old cook when they were little. 

Everything went off as nice as 
could be expected under the circum- 
stances until the preacher said, "Sa- 
lute your bride." Then when Bill 
started to kiss her, Mammy Lou laid 
her hand against the side of his head 
so hard you could of heard it clear 
up to the house, and said she would 
teach him then and there how to show 

Digitized by 




impudence to a woman of sixty, even 
if he was a Yankee and educated. The 
slap didn't seem to set very well on 
him, being nineteen years old and not 
used to such. We left right after the 
ceremony, and Mammy Lou and the 
others walked on down to her house 
to wait for the twelve o'clock train, 
that they was going to leave on. Al- 
though I always enjoy going to places 
with the Youngs on account of the 
curious words and the picture-taking 
camera, and although it was the sixth 
marriage of my old nurse, which, of 
course, you don't get a chance to wit- 
ness every day, still when I think of 
breakfast in the morning, I must say 
it was the saddest wedding I ever 

July 22. — This morning when I first 
woke up and heard that regular old 
tune, "Play on Your Harp, Little 
David," coming so natural and life- 
like from the kitchen I thought it 
surely must be a dream. Mammy being 
hundreds of miles away in Washing- 
ton. It kept on, though, just like it 
has done every morning for twenty- 
five years : 

"Shad-rach, Af^-shach, and A-bed-nt-go, 
The Lord has washed me white as snow" 

so I got up. It never does take me a 
minute to wash my face of a morn- 
ing, and this morning it took less. I 
hopped into my clothes and flew down 
stairs. It wasn't any dream. There 
was Mammy, not looking married nor 
anything, and a cheerful fire in the 
stove and some bacon smelling like 
you was nearly starved. I didn't ask 
any questions, but just said "Mam- 
my," and she said, "Baby," and there 
I was hugging her fit to turn over the 
churn. I asked her if Ma knew, and 
she said no, she had been easy and 
not made any noise, so as to surprise 
us all. I reckon Ma and Pa are so 
used to having Shadrach, Meshach 
and Abednego wake them up of a 
morning that it seemed like a dream 
to them, too. Pretty soon they heard 
us talking, though, and came in. Ma 
came first, for, of course, it is a gen- 
tleman's place to let a lady go into the 
kitchen first when they think that 
breakfast is to be got. 

Ma said, "What are you doing 
here?" and Mammy Lou said, "Get- 
ting breakfast, Miss Mary," which 
was about as straightforward as they 
could have been with each other. Then 
Ma asked her if she wasn't still mar- 
ried, and she said no, for she had had 
occasion to give that uppish, Yankee 
nigger a good whipping last night, and 
she told Dilsey she could have him if 
she wanted him. She said she hoped 
Dilsey would take him, for she would 
just admire to be mother-in-law to 
that nigger. 

I remembered hearing Pa once say 
that the devil must have been in a 
bilious spell when he made a mother- 
in-law, so I hoped for his sake Bill 
would let one marrying be enough. 

Just then Pa came in, hearing the 
last remark about "that nigger,'* and 
asked Mammy Lou what was the 
trouble between her and her husband. 
She was breaking eggs into the big 
yellow bowl that she was going to 
scramble for breakfast, and as she 
told us about her marrying troubles 
«he commenced to beat them very 
hard, which seemed to ease her. It is 
a great help to people to think of 
their enemies when they are beating 
things, for it makes them beat harder 
and don't really hurt the enemies. And 
if you are helping chop up peaches 
for jam and can keep your mind on 
that one person, you chop so hard the 
juice flies up and almost puts your 
eyes out thinking if it was just her 
or him you were chopping. 

Mammy said when they got home 
from the wedding she started to 
change her white dress and veil and 
put on her good cashmere dress to 
wear on the train. Just then Mr. 
Williams spoke up and remarked that 
he was sleepy and wanted to get a 
good night's rest, and would she have 
him a rare steak for his breakfast. 
Mammy asked him if he had been 
bom a fool, or just turned that way 
since he had married so far above his 
station. He told her they would see 
who the fool was before the week was 
out, and that the steak better have 
good beaten biscuits to go with it. 
Then Mammy gave him another sam- 

Digitized by 




pie of her strength like she did in the 
church and told him to go and change 
his clothes to go to George Washing- 
ton. Then he laughed in her face 
right before Dilsey and the neighbors 
and told her didn't she know George 
Washington had been dead and buried 
behind the church door for a hundred 
years. He said "the ignorance of 
country niggers is really aniusa- 

Mammy said she hated to do it with 
her veil on, being a new veil and she 
hadn't used it but twice, but she 
couldn't wait to take it off, him grin- 
ning like a picture-taking man at his 
funny joke. All his teeth was show- 
ing, and as Mammy had always ad- 
mired them being so big and white, 
she decided to keep a handful to re- 
member him by ; so she gave him one 
good lick in the mouth with her wed- 
ding slipper, which was very large and 
easy to come off. This broke a good 
half of his front tooth besides draw- 
ing a good deal of blood to relieve 
her feelings. While he was busy wip- 
ing away the blood and trying to open 
his eyes enough to see candle light 
again, Mammy sat down by him and 
before he knew it she had dragged 
him across her lap and was paddling 
him with that slipper like he was her 
own dear son instead of her husband. 
Then she called Dilsey and told her 

she could feel safe about marrying 
him if she still wanted him, for he 
had better sense now than to try to 
fool with any member of that family. 
Mammy Lou said of course she 
couldn't stay married to a man she 
could paddle. She was too much of a 
lady. But Dilsey turned up her nose 
and said she wouldn't have any 
second-handed nigger, much less a 
whipped one. 

Pa spoke up then and said she 
couldn't give Bill to Dilsey without 
getting a divorce from him first. 
* Mammy Lou said, well, Marse Sheriff 
might arrest her, and Marse Judge 
might fine her, but she would see 
them all in the place that was pre- 
pared for them before she would 
waste twenty-five dollars buying a 
divorce just for that little speck of 
marrying ! 

Pa went out to feed the chickens 
pretty soon, and Ma went to wake up 
Bertha (but not the baby) for break- 
fast, and Mammy Lou scraped up the 
eggs in the dish I had brought her. 

"Divorce nothin'" I heard her re- 
mark, as she soused the hot skillet 
into water that sizzled, 'T done 
bought a hundred dollars' worth of 
divorces already, and if the lawyers 
wusn't all scribes and Pharisees they 
would let that run me the rest of my 


I've lived my day; I've sung my song; 

I've fought and loved and striven ; 
The coming night is black and long — 

I meet it calm, unshriven. 

I've wrought and foi«ght as best I might 

And struck no coward blow. 
A man's a man ; a fight's a fight ; 

This law is all I know. 

And some sweet days of love T'.e had, 

Dear days of pure delight ; 
Then, oh ! defiant soul, be glad ! 

And, oh ! my love, good-night. 

William R. Luke. 

Digitized by 





The Bailie, one of the pithiest jour- 
nals in Scotland, says that Mr. Austin 
"is the only Southern man sent to 
Glasgow in the capacity of consul since 
the Civil War in the States," and it 
says further that "personally, Mr. Aus- 
tin is a distinguished success, and Glas- 
gow people, from the Lord Provost 
downwards, have taken to him. As an 
American he is pardonably proud of 
his country and is a firm believer in 
the sovereignty of 
the citizen. He 
is an excellent aft- 
er-dinner speaker, 
eloquent and hu- 
morous, and al- 
ways graceful in 
compliment." This 
appreciation is Mr. 
Austin's birth- 
right, for he is of 
Scotch descent and 
is besides, a citi- 
zen of the world. 
He was one of 
the first consuls to 
enter the service 
under the new 
rules requiring 
representatives to 
pass an examina- 

Mr. Austin is 
peculiarly suited 
to the needs of 
his office, having filled various posi- 
tions of trust under Hayes, Garfield, 
Arthur, Harrison, McKinley and 
Roosevelt, having an extensive law 
practice in Tennessee and eight years 
of service as United States marshal. 
Moreover, he is a newspaper man, hav- 
ing been manager for some time of 
the Knoxville Daily Chronicle and a 
frequent contributor to other journals. 
It will be seen that Mr. Austin is a 


many-sided man and it will not be sur- 
prising if his long years of faithful 
public service are shortly rewarded 
with even greater honors than he has 
yet had. 

Formerly the representatives of this 
country in the consular posts of Eng- 
land and Scotland were selected from 
our literary men, with the result that 
the society in these places came to look 
upon the Americans as the most bril- 
liant men of the 
consular corps, 
while the com- 
merce of the coun- 
try was diverted 
by the other repre- 
sentatives of less 
brain and greater 
business instincts. 
Mr. Austin is a 
keen, strenuous 
man, quick to see 
and grasp oppor- 
tunities, a f fable 
and accessible and 
his term of office 
cannot fail to in- 
crease the kindly 
feeling and broad- 
en the trade rela- 
tions between the 
people of Glasgow 
and the United 
States. "His hos- 
pitality to Ameri- 
cans and particularly to Tennesseans 
makes far-away Glasgow a garden 
spot for the trans-Atlantic traveler," 
writes 'The Onlooker," in The Scots' 

Starting out in life as a clerk in the 
post office at Qarksville, Tennessee, 
and working at night in a bank at 
that place, John Wellington Faxon has 
reached a prominent position among 

Digitized by 



the bankers, not only of Tennessee but of Tennessee under General William 
of the United States. He was for six A. Quarles, the Supervisor. For 
years Secretary of the Tennessee nearly fifteen years he was an offi- 
Bankers' Association and is now an cer in the First National Bank, of 
honorary member of that organization. Chattanooga, which position he re- 
He was for two terms the Vice Presi- signed in May, 1905 to engage in oth- 
dent for Tennessee of the American er business. In June, 1905, he was 
Bankers' Association, although on elected president of the firm of Faxon, 
neither occasion was he in attendance Stuart & Co. (Incorporated), of Chat- 
at the convention at which he was tanooga, dealers in stocks, bonds, se- 
elected. Mr. Faxon was a 
strenuous worker for the 
adoption of the Negotiable 
Instrument Law by the 
Legislature of Tennessee, 
and for his eflForts in se- 
curing its passage he re- 
ceived a vote of thanks 
from the American Bank- 
ers' Association, where the 
law originated. He has 
been twice endorsed and 
strongly urged for the posi- 
tion of Treasurer of the 
United States by a host of 
bankers and friends of 
many States both North 
and South, and he has in 
his possession a letter from 
President McKinley stat- 
ing that "no man ever had 
stronger endorsements for 
the position of Treasurer of 
the United States, but the 
money centers of this coun- 
try have always controlled 
this appointment." He has 
held many prominent posi- 
tions in his State, and in 
1894 was elected President 
of the Chattanooga Cham- 
ber of Commerce. 

He compiled the "His- 
tory of Banking in Tennes- «• b. glenn, governor of north Carolina 

c«>A " urfiirVi ic o rfi^intpr in His recent ruling against the Southern Railway has eroked 
bCC, wiiicri lb d umpici m ^ 3^,^ ^j discussion 

Knox s History of Bank- 
ing in the United States," published by curities, general insurance, and real 
Bradford Rhodes & Co. He has con- estate agents. 

tributed many articles of merit to the Mr. Faxon was born in Buffalo, 

financial journals and public press of New York, and removed with his 

the country, and he was for eighteen father's family to Clarksville in 1843, 

years on the staff of the Louisville when a mere child. 

Courier- Journal as the Clarksville cor- On his mother's side he is a 

respondent. In 1859 he was appoint- descendant of Governor William 

ed Assistant Supervisor of the Banks Bradford, who was a passenger on 

Digitized by 




has been retained in the same posi- 
tion, since General Gordon's death, by 
General Stephen D. Lee. 

On February 22, 1866, he married 
Miss Florence Herring, of Qarksville. 
Four children, all living, have blessed 
this union. 

Mr. Faxon is a deep student of 
commercial and economic questions, 
and is in great demand as a speaker 
at banking and financial conventions. 
His interests are widely distributed 
throughout the State and with his fami- 
ly he travels extensively, but his home 
is in Chattanooga, where he is a rul- 
ing elder in the Presbyterian church, 
a trustee of Erlanger Hospital and 
treasurer of the Chattanooga His- 
torical Societv. 


the Mayflower in 1620, and on his 
father's side from Revolutionary sol- 
diers. His father, Charles Faxon, a 
writer of merit, was at one time in 
his early life a writer for the Hart- 
ford Courant, now the oldest paper in 
the United States. 

John W. Faxon received his educa- 
tion at the Masonic College and Stew- 
art College (now the Southwestern 
Presbyterian University) at Clarks- 
ville. He was the first Treasurer of 
this University, a position he held for 
about ten years, and for two terms was 
President of its Alumni Association. 

He is a member of the following or- 
ders: "Masonic," "Society of the 
Mayflower Descendants," "The Or- 
der of the Founders and Patriots of 
America" and the "Sons of the Ameri- 
can Revolution." He is also a mem- 
ber of "N. B. Forrest Camp No. 4, 
C. S. Veterans," of which organization 
he has been twice elected Lieutenant 
Commander and Historian, having 
served throughout the earlier duration 
of the Civil War. He was a Colonel 
and Aide-de-Camp on the staff of Gen- 
eral John B. Gordon, commander of 
the United Confederate Veterans, and 

Charles James Faulkner, lawyer, 
jurist, statesman, was bom in Martins- 
burg, Berkeley County, Virginia (now 
West Virginia), September 21, 1847. 
His father, Charles James Faulkner, 
Sr., represented Virginia in the Sen- 
ate of the United States, and in 1859 
was appointed Minister to the Court 
of France. Young Charles accom- 
panied his father, and attended school 
in Paris and Switzerland until the 


Digitized by 




opening of the Civil War, when they 
returned to the United States, espous- 
ing the cause of the Confederacy. The 
son, then fifteen, was placed in school 
at Virginia Military Institute, at Lex- 
ington, but the battle of Xew Market 
made soldiers of the cadets, and Mr. 
Faulkner was in active service from 
then on, serving as aide to General J. 
C. Breckinridge, and afterwards to 
General Henry A. Wise, surrender- 
ing with that officer at Appomattox. 
On his return to his home he studied 
under the direction o.' his father un- 
til October, 1866, 
when he entered 
the University of 
Virginia, graduat- 
ing in June, 1868, 
and being admit- 
ted to the bar the 
following S e p- 
tember. After 
twelve years of 
extensive practice, 
he was elected 
Judge of the Thir- 
teenth J u d i cial 
Circuit of West 
Virginia, com- 
posed of the 
Counties of Jef- 
ferson, Morgan 
and Berkeley, and 
in 1887 was elect- 
ed to the United 
States Senate on 
the Democratic^ 

ticket to succeed ike t. 

Johnson N. Cam- 
den. He wa^ re-elected in 1893, and 
when the Democratic party controlled 
the United States Senate was Chair- 
mittee on Territories 
le was also the or- 
ler of the contest in 
St the passage of the 
I Bill when it was de- 
Senator Gorman, of 
3ne of the most ac- 
e defeat of the Force 
Bill, speaking at one period of the con- 
test, at the request of his party, from 
10 p.m. until 10 a.m. the next day, 
this being necessary to meet a move 

of the Republicans, which would have 
forced a vote on the main question, 
which if it had succeeded at the time 
would have carried the bill. During 
his senatorial terms Judge Faulkner 
served on the Judiciary, Appropria- 
tions, District of Columbia, Pacific 
Railroads, Territories, Indian Depre- 
dations, Claims and other important 
committees. He is a member of the 
bar of the Supreme Court of the 
United States ; member of the Ameri- 
can Society of International Law ; Na- 
tional Geographic Society; Committee 
of One Hundred 
of the American 
Association for 
the Advancement 
of Science; is a 
Trustee of the 
Alumni Endow- 
ment Fund of the 
University of Vir- 
ginia ; was perma- 
nent Chairman of 
the Democratic 
State Convention 
of West Virginia 
in 1888, and was 
both temporary 
and permanent 
Chairman of the 
Democratic State 
Convention in 
1892; was Chair- 
man of the Demo- 
cratic Congres- 
sional Campaign 
PRYOR Committee in 1894 

and 1896; ap- 
pointed a member of the joint com- 
mission of the two Houses of Con- 
gress to investigate the question of 
the price of railway mail transporta- 
tion and postal-car service, and all 
sources of revenue and expenditures 
of the Post Office Department, under 
Act of Congress approved June 13, 
1898; and appointed a member of the 
International Joint High Commission 
of the United States and Great Brit- 
ain for the adjustment of differences 
in respect to the Dominion of Can- 
ada, on September 19, 1898. Since 
retiring from public life Judge Faulk- 

Digitized by 




ncr has devoted his time to the prac- 
tice of his profession and to the man- 
agement of his large agricultural in- 
terests in West Virginia. 

An orphan at six, a newsboy in the 
Army of the Cumberland at ten, wit- 
nessing the battles of Murfreesboro 
and Chickamauga and a farmer's 
helper, working for his board and such 
schooling as could be had — such was 
the fortune of Ike T. Pryor's early 
years. He was born in Florida in 
1852 and at the close of the war 
found a home with Tennessee rela- 
tives, and for the next six years the 
boy did a man's work under the dis- 
advantages of the reconstruction pe- 
riod. When he was eighteen he de- 
termined to try his fortunes in Texas 
and that great state, teeming then, 
as. now, with opportunities for am- 
bitious, industrious men, proved the 
best field for his talents and has 
claimed his allegiance ever since. Be- 
ginning as a ranch hand at fifteen 
dollars a month, he worked his way 
through the successive steps of trail 
hand, driver and foreman to that of 
manager. This was in the days of 
"free grass" when the whole boundless 
West was a grazing ground for Texas 
cattle, which were driven slowly in 
great herds from pasture to pasture. 
Cowboy life in those days was pic- 
turesque and vivid and every day 
brought buflfalo hunts, Indian fights 
or mix-ups with other herds. Mr. 
Pryor, in a recent speech before the 
Trans-Mississippi Commercial Con- 
gress at Kansas City, thus truly char- 
acterized cattle men : "Those who fol- 
low this business are broad in their 

views, brave and chivalrous in their 
natures, asking only from others that 
which they would be willing to g^nt 
under similar circumstances." 

In 1877 he began driving cattle on 
his own account and during the next 
few years, in partnership with an old- 
er brother, he increased his herds, 
driving them to Colorado and Kan- 
sas and selling them there. As the 
net profits on cattle at that time 
ranged from three to five dollars a 
head, the Pryor brothers accumulated 
a large fortune, which they invested 
in ranch property and more cattle. 
The disastrous winter of 1884 and 
1885 swept away this fortune, and the 
subsequent building of railroads and 
introduction of barbed wire fences cut 
off the enormous profits in cattle. 
Mr. Pryor then confined his attention 
to his ranch in North Texas and be- 
gan to work with the Texas Cattle 
Raisers' Association to promote cattle 
interests under these new conditions. 
He also became interested in the pro- 
motion and management of the Evans- 
Snider-Buel Company, cMie of the 
largest live stock commission com- 
panies in the world. Notwithstand- 
ing this connection with the buying 
market, he was elected, in 1906, to 
the presidency of the Cattle Raisers' 
Association, his ten years of work in 
their interests having proven his abili- 
ty to adjust matters equably, and in 
1907 was unanimously elected by a 
rising vote to succeed himself. Mr. 
Pryor holds oflice in several other live 
stock associations, has banking and 
property interests in the Indian Ter- 
ritory, Missouri and Kansas and 
makes his home in San Antonio. 

Digitized by 





i Digitized by VjOOQIC 




Digitized by 


CHAPTER VIII— Continued 

She gave a low exclamation of as- 
tonishment as she tinrolled to view a 
number of bank notes, mostly new, 
and of small denominations — ones, 
twos and fives. As Sophronia care- 
fully fingered the bills, noting their 
value and the number the roll con- 
tained, her eyes opened wide with sur- 
prise at the sight of so much money. 

No wonder her neighbor had exer- 
cised such caution in concealing his 
treasure. Here was a larger amount of 
money than she had ever imagined he 
would possess. How had he ever 
come into the ownership of such a 
sum? Could he have stolen it, and 
from whcwn ? 

The girl hastily counted the bills. 
^'Goodness!" she exclaimed. It was 
ninety-five dollars in all — a small for- 
tune indeed f6r a person in Judson's 
situation. How came he with such 
booty, for booty it must be, since he 
had never been known to save a dollar 
in his life, yet here was quite a snug 
little fortune that had been acquired 
by some unknown means. 

As Sophronia puzzled over the mat- 
ter, her eyes chanced to fall on the 
scrap of paper in which the money 
had been wrapped, and smoothing out 
the paper, she slowly read the reward 
offered by the President of the Tum- 

, for any information 
o the arrest and con- 
aiders, whose recent 
e were a menace to 

was a solution to the 
her brain ! Steve 
re betrayed the raid- 
ers, and this money was the larger 
part of the spoils he had received. He 
certainly could not have accumulated 
such an amount otherwise, for his ill- 
kept, sterile patch of ground scarcely 
yielded a poor living. 

As Sophronia sat looking first at the 
money then at the printed reward, the 
fear of detection suddenly came over 
her. Whether it was ill-gotten gain, 
or not, the money certainly was not 
hers, and she had no right to thus 
unearth it from its secret hiding place. 
Suppose some one should discover her 
in the act ! 

Alarmed at the mere thought, she 
hastily wrapped the scrap of paper 
around the money, and dropping the 
roll in the jar, screwed on the lid and 
reburied the treasure, taking care to 
leave the place looking quite as she 
had found it. Then she hasily quitted 
the spot. 



The dark forms of a group of men 
were brought out in sharp contrast 
against the fitful light of a small brush- 
wood fire built in a sheltered spot 
among the hills. 

A few faint stars dotted the moon- 
less sky, and the night air was raw 
with the frosty breath of late October. 

Some of the men were sitting about 
on scattered blocks of rejected stone, 

Digitized by 

Google ^ 



left in the abandoned quarry years be- 
fore when the abutment of a bridge 
had been built over a small, swift 
stream near by, but the ereat number 
of raiders stood in careless attitudes 
around the fire, talking or smoking. 

"Captain's late," one of the men in 
the foreground said. 

"I heard the ring of Black Devil's 
hoofs comin' up the hill just a mo- 
ment ago," a raider answered. 

As he spoke, he thrust a fresh sup- 
ply of brush into the fire, and briskly 
stirred the bed of embers until it 
glowed with sudden fervor, while a 
shower of sparks arose and fluttered 
into the night like a swarm of fire- 
flies rudely disturbed. 

"Be saving of the brush," cautioned 
one of the raiders. "There may be 
officers of the law abroad to-night." 

"It is money to them if they bag us," 
answered the other, with an expressive 
shrug of the shoulders and a hoarse 
laugh. "There's a reward of two hun- 
dred dollars offered for information 
concerning the raiders, or night-riders, 
as some folks call us." 

"Perhaps some one's after it," sug- 
gested another. 

"And what good 'd the reward be? 
It would melt or bum where we'd 
send him." 

"Is it the gate at the stone bridge 

"No, I have heard it's to be another 
—one more familiar to some of our 
members," the speaker continued, cast- 
ing a furtive glance at a number of the 
band standing near. 

"Suppose it should be the pole of 
the New Pike gate, and Milt was chos- 
en to do the cutting?" The man at the 
fire spoke tauntingly. 

"The pole of the New Pike gate 
won't be cut to-night, I'm thinking," 
said Derr quietly. 

"Not if the Captain commands it?" 


"Listen, you fellows — ^hear what this 
man's sayin' !" 

"And what's more to the point, I'm 
willing to bet that he isn't going to 
insist on me cutting it, either," added 
Derr, glancing about him with a half- 

defiant air in which there was also 
the suggestion of a threat. 

Quickly the attention of the others 
was drawn to the speaker, who had un- 
consciously straightened to his full six 
feet, while the rich color in his cheeks, 
augmented by the ruddy glow of the 
firelight, deepened perceptibly, and 
quickly spread to his throat and neck, 
which were partly revealed in their ro- 
bust outlines, where the heavy coat was 
thrown back to the warmth of the fire. 

"Any special reasons for not wantin' 
to cut down the pole of the New Pike 
gate?" asked one of the band, with a 
wink on the sly at his companions. 

"I have," answered Milt frankly and 
seriously. "One good reason I will 
state a little later, the other can be 
given right now. It seems a cow- 
ardly thing to do— the chopping down 
of a gate that's kept by two lone 
women. Now if it was a man, the 
case would be altogether different." 

"It ain't the women folks we've got 
the grudge ag'in," spoke up one of 
the men. "It's the graspin' turnpike 
companies back of 'em we're after." 

"Yes, but it's taking away the liv- 
ing of two worthy women," protested 

"That can't be helped, though," ar- 
gued the other raider. "If we're g6- 
in' to do away with toll-gates, an' have 
free roads, we can't play favorites, you 
know, by cuttin' down some poles, 
an' leavin' others standin', just on ac- 
count o' family relations," he said. 

"What's the talk ?" The deep voice 
came from the outer gloom, and as 
the men glanced in its direction, the 
captain emerged from the shadows 
hovering close about the circle and 
joined the group. 

An embarrassing silence fell sud- 
denly upon the company, at the lead- 
er's presence, and each man waited for 
his neighbor to make reply. As no 
one seemed inclined to answer, finally 
Derr spoke. 

"It was concerning the New Pike 
gate. Some one suggested that I 
would be chosen to do the cutting of 
the pole." 

"Well !" The captain fixed his steel 

Digitized by 




cold eyes full on the speaker, while 
the semblance of a sarcastic smile hov- 
ered about his mouth. 

"I have good and sufficient reasons 
for not wanting to cut down that 
pole, and especially if I was called 
upon to-night," continued the speaker 
quietly, his eyes meeting the captain's 
gaze unflinchingly. 

"Have your reasons been ,caHed 
for ?" demanded the leader with a con- 
temptuous curl of the lip. 

"Among other reasons," continued 
Derr, ignoring the question, "I don't 
see the need of disturbing that gate 
for the present, when so many others 
around here mig^t claim our atten- 

The little groups merged into a large 
one, and general attention was quick- 
ly centered in the two men, for trou- 
ble seemed brewing in this quarter. 
As they stood face to face, eyeing 
each other keenly and coolly, the 
spirit of unfriendliness that had long 
held a place in each bosom was plain- 
ly evident, and a clashing of strong 
wills appeared imminent. There had 
ever been a feeling of rivalry, dating 
far back to the days they had gone 
to school together in Alder Q-eek 
Glen, and pretty little Sally Brown 
was the figurative apple of discord be- 
tween the two. 

"His reasons for not wanting that 
gate disturbed may not be hard to 
guess," said the captain, a sneer lin- 
gering on his heavy lips. "He's in 
love with the pretty toll-taker." 

"And the captain's rather sore be- 
cause she's jilted him," retorted Derr 
in clear, deliberate tones. 

The leader's face flushed crimson 
with anger at the words that carried 
with them the sting of truth, and a 
look of hatred blazed for an instant 
in his eyes as he turned them full 
on the speaker, standing calm and 
disdainful, meeting the look fear- 
lessly. , 

Perhaps this utter lack of fear de- 
terred the captain from his first im- 
pulse, for he knew that to press his 
adversary further at this moment 
meant a speedy settlement of old 

scores. Jade Beddow was not ready for 
such a course just yet, indeed he knew 
a better plan of revenge, so with strong 
effort he managed to control the rage 
that filled him, and to bring himself 
to a more fitting realization of his 
present course of conduct. 

"We haven't met to-night to settle 
personal grievances," he said, letting 
his eyes slowly wander to the men 
surrounding him. "These can be left 
to another time an' place. Our busi- 
ness to-night is to strike another blow 
for our just cause, and the New Pike 
gate is the one to go down. Let those 
who are not cowards follow me. To 
your horses, boys 1" 


A little before eight o'clock, while 
the young girl was still busied in the 
kitchen with the supper dishes, for on 
court days this meal was always a late 
one. Squire Bixler again passed 
through the New Pike gate on his way 
to town. 

Sally's mother raised the gate for 
him, and curious to know the cause 
of his speedy return, straightway be- 
gan to ply him with questions. When 
she came into the house after he had 
ridden on, the seal of secrecy being 
the price Aht Squire required of her 
for the information he had imparted, 
she heaved so deep a sigh, and looked 
so full of melancholy forebodings that 
her daughter quickly inquired the 

"Nothin'," answered the old woman 
evasively, but the tone and her ac- 
tions suggested quite the contrary. 
Indeed, her face bore the unmistaka- 
ble impression of an impending dis- 
aster. The girl's curiosity was at 
once aroused and piqued by her hioth- 
er's bearing and words. 

"But there is certainly something 
troubling you," insisted Sally. "You 
look quite put out." 

"Well," admitted the other grudg- 
ingly, "perhaps I am." 

"Then what's the matter?" 

"I'm under solemn promise not to 
tell anybody, not even you, but when 

Digitized by 




a person don't know what minute 
they're liable to lose* the very shelter 
over their heads, it's high time for dis- 
mal looks I should say." 

"Are we in any such danger?" asked 
the girl quickly. 

"I'm not sayin' as we air or ain't," 
yet the speaker gave a most gloomy 
shake of her head along with the non- 
commital answer. 

"But you act like something se- 
rious was the matter." 

"I can't well help showin' what's on 
my mind, I suppose." 

"Then why on earth don't you say 
what's troubling you ?" 

"When you're told a thing, an' then 
told positively not to tell it, how is a 
person to do?" asked Mrs. Brown in 
dire perplexity. Her pledge to the 
squire was already beginning to weigh 
heavily upon her. 

"I don't see why you hesitate to 
tell me," said Sally emphatically; 
"I'm not a child that can't be trusted 
with a secret." 

"I don't see the harm myself in 
your knowin' it," acknowledged her 
mother, "and that, too, when you'd 
be sure to find it out in a mighty 
little while, for as soon as the guards 
come, you'd know that somethin' was 

"The guards?" echoed the girl. 
"Then it's something about the raid- 

"I didn't say," answered her mother 
with exasperating evasiveness. 

"But it is," cried the girl. "Sure- 
ly I've quite as much right to know 
as you. Don't it concern me equally 
as much ?" 

"Of course, but then the squire 
didn't seem to want to make you un- 
easy any sooner than was necessary. 
That's why he cautioned me about tell- 
in' you, I suppose." 

"And very thoughtful it was of him, 
too," declared the girl with shrewdly 
feigned graciousness. "So it was the 
squire that told you about the raiders ?" 

"Yes, and it goes to prove how 
much he really thinks of you, not to 
want you worried." 

"That's true," the girl's manner took 

on a careless indiflfcrencc, "He was 
speaking to me the other day about 
the raiders; what did he have to say 
to you ?" she asked in an off-hand way 
that threw the mother quite off guard 
for the moment. 

"He was sayin' that he feared you'd 
be badly frightened if you knew the 
raiders would be here to-night." 

"To-night?" cried the girl excited- 
ly, no longer acting a part. 

"There! I've gone and let the cat out 
of the bag, after all !" exclaimed Mrs. 
Brown in sudden contrition. "You 
partly guessed it, though. I didn't 
tell you out and out." She came a 
little closer to Sally, while her voice 
dropped to a tragic whisper. "Yes, 
the raiders air comin' this very night." 

"How does he know?" 

"He didn't tell me, but he's found 
out somehow." 

"What will become of us?" cried 
her hearer in genuine apprehension. 

"Dear knows !" answered her moth- 
er melting into tears at the thought 
of the impending raid. "We'll likely 
have the roof burned over our very 
heads, and to-morrow will find our- 
selves without a shelter." 

"Well, there, don't worry!" urged 
the girl, touched by her mother's evi- 
dent distress of mind. "There's an- 
other shelter been offered us, if the 
worst comes to the worst." 

"Whose?" questioned Mrs. Brown 
quickly, for the moment forgetful of 
impending danger in the thirst for 
further knowledge of this generous of- 
fer. "Has the Squire offered us a 
home?" she questioned eagerly, eye- 
ing her daughter askant. 

"Yes, he has," acknowledged the 
girl with a little show of hesitation; 
"not that I mean to accept it," she 
added to herself, with a pretended flare 
of courage that was far from real. 
"What does the Squire think the raid- 
ers will be apt to do?" she questioned, 
returning to the primary subject un- 
der discussion. 

"He don't intend they shall do us 
any harm if he can help it. He's gone 
to town now to get men to come an' 
guard the gate, an' he hopes to ketch 

Digitized by 




the last one of them lawless raiders be- 
fore momin*, " declared the elder toll- 

**I hope not!" cried the girl impul- 
sively as a sudden fear crossed her 

"You hope not?" repeated Mrs. 
Brown in open-eyed wonder, turning 
on her daughter in quick wrath. "Is 
Milt Derr one of them night riders 
that you talk like that, Sally Brown?" 

"Of course not, mother, else they 
wouldn't be coming here,'* answered 
Sally with quick wit to repair the slip 
of her tongue. "I mean on account 
of the trouble it would bring to a lot 
of innocent people," she hastened to 
explain. "Of course these raiders 
have friends and kinfolks, likely some 
of 'em acquaintances of ours up in the 
hills. Besides, the raiders think 
they're mightily down-trodden and op- 
pressed, for toll-rates are high, there's 
no denying the fact." 

"Sally Brown! I'm downright 
ashamed of you, that I am!" cried her 
mother sharply. "The idea of you 
takin' up for them miserable law- 
breakers, an' them tryin' to bum the 
very roof over our heads, an' take 
the daily bread out of our mouths. 
You must have gone clean daft." 

"I didn't say I thought they were 
right," persisted Sally. "I said it 
likely seemed so to them." 

"An' you got no cause to say even 
that," insisted Mrs. Brown, "you, 
that's dependin' on a livin' by takin' 
of the toll. It's nothin' short of 
downright treason!" 


The girl had been dreading just 
such news as her mother had revealed, 
yet since the conversation with the 
Squire the day Sally had so unwill- 
ingly ridden with him from town, she 
had been hourly expecting it. Now 
that the ill news had really come, her 
present uneasiness was not altogeth- 
er on her mother's account, nor her 
own. It was probable that her sweet- . 
heart was now affiliated with the band 

of raiders, yet if this was true, it 
seemed a little strange that the New 
Pike gate was the one to be at- 

When Sally sat down to her sewing 
a little later, after her various house- 
hold duties had been attended to for 
the evening, her thoughts were very 
far removed from her present work, 
and she was much more troubled and 
perplexed in spirit and mind than she 
cared to show. 

At the time she had heard the talk 
between the Squire and his unknown 
informant, it was evident that Milton 
Derr had not then joined the raiders, 
but from the trend of that conversa- 
tion it seemed likely he would soon be- 
come a member of the band. He was 
evidently debating the feasibility of 
joining them. Had he done so, and 
was he now powerless to change or 
divert their plans ? 

It was not alone the news that the 
gate would be attacked which was 
troubling the girl, but the further in- 
formation her mother had given that 
the plans of the raiders were known, 
and the Squire was even then in town 
organizing a posse to resist the attack 
and capture the band. 

Supposing her sweetheart was now a 
member of it, and some subtle intui- 
tion was urging her to such belief, 
what would be the outcome of it all? 
This then was the trap the Squire was 
adroitly laying for his nephew. She 
had warned Milt of the danger, but 
had he heeded ? The band was proba- 
bly composed of men he knew well, 
and was doubtless gathered from the 
ready material to be found among the 
rugged hills wherein he dwelt. 

There had ever seemed to exist 
among these people a certain wild 
spirit of adventure and reckless dar- 
ing, which one naturally imbibed along 
with the very air of these free remote 
hills, and the Squire's nephew was of 
that restive nature too easily attracted 
by anything savoring of excitement or 
danger, such as these lawless escapades 
might readily furnish. 

On recalling a talk she had held 

Digitized by 




with her sweetheart the Sunday even- 
ing before, when they rode together 
from Alder Creek meeting-house, she 
felt that her very own words may 
have had some weight in influencing 
him to cast his fortunes with the raid- 
ers. Though she warned him of such 
a course, yet in almost the same breath 
she told him of the Squire's predicticm 
that the New Pike gate would be 
wrecked, leaving her mother and her- 
self homeless, but she wiselv said noth- 
ing about the Squire's offer of mar- 
riage, deeming it prudent to remain 
silent on this point for the present, at 

She had appealed to the nephew to 
do what he could to prevent the de- 
struction of the New Pike gate, and 
had meant to enlist his aid only so 
far as the exercising of his influence 
over any personal friends who might 
belong to the band of raiders. 

As things now stood, a great dan- 
ger lay in the fact that the posse of 
men now being gathered together in 
town, would probably make speedy 
war on those who threatened destruc- 
tion to the gate. There would doubt- 
less be fighting, some might be killed, 
wounded or taken prisoners, and her 
sweetheart was as liable to be among 
the first as the latter, if he were a 
raider. What great relief it would be 
at this moment to know that he was 
not connected with those who had 
lately declared warfare on the toll- 
gates throughout the country ! 

If she could but manage to see him, 
even for a brief moment, a simple 
word of warning might avert serious 
trouble. There was still left her a 
faint chance for such warning to be 
given, for Milton Derr had gone to 
town that morning, and she had not 
seen him return, though it might be 
that he had passed the gate on his 
homeward way, while she was busied 
with her household duties. 

She felt a g^wing eagerness to 
know if her mother had seen him pass, 
yet dared not ask. Finally she de- 
cided on a little subterfuge. 

"Dear me!" she cried, suddenly 
pausing in her work and glancing at 

her mother inquiringly, "I forgot to 
send Phrony that skirt pattern she 
asked me to hunt for her. Has every 
one passed living up that way?" 

"I s'pose they have," answered Mrs. 
Brown gnmipily.' "It's gettin' late, 
an' if the country folks ain't at home 
by now, they oughter be." 

The girl made a show of hunting 
up the pattern, then sat down with it 
and her sewing near the front door. 

Several belated travelers passed, 
some rather the worse for having im- 
bibed too freely of the cup that cheers, 
but the one she wished to see was not 
among them. Along toward nine 
o'clock a small party of horsemen came 
galloping along the pike, loudly halloo- 
ing and firing their pistols as they 
came, and for a moment the girl 
thought the raiders were surely at 

Then quickly-realizing that the cav- 
alcade was coming not from the direc- 
tion of the hill country, but the town, 
and that the night was yet too 
young for raiders to be abroad, she 
understood that it was merely a drunk- 
en crowd on their homeward way, 
therefore she hurried out and raised 
the pole, then fled into the house and 
blew out the light, as the horsemen 
went dashing by, in a volley of shouts 
and oaths, like a miniature whirlwind. 

Just as the clock was striking nine, 
and when her mother had once more 
fallen asleep after her recent rude 
awakening, the girl's attentive ear 
caught the sound of a horse's familiar 
tread, and tiptoeing lightly out on 
the platform, she softly closed the 
door behind her and awaited the rider. 

She was not at fault in her sur- 
mise, for the horseman was the one 
she had hoped to see, and at her low 
summons he rode close up to the plat- 
form where she stood, all impatient 
to divulge her message. 

"I thought you'd never come, or 
else that you had already passed the 
gate without me seeing you!" cried 
Sally in an eager undertone when he 
drew rein. 

"I would certainly have started ear- 

Digitized by 




lier if I'd known you were waiting/* 
answered the rider contritely. 

"Did you know we are expecting 
the raiders to pay us a visit to-night ?'* 
she asked hurriedly, coming at once to 
the point. 

"Pay this gate a visit?" queried Milt 
in genuine surprise that proved her 
words news to him. 


"Are you quite sure about that?" he 
asked thoughtfully. "How do you 
know it's to be this gate?" 

"The Squire came by on his way to 
town only a little while ago, and told 
mother. He's gone now to raise a 
posse of men to guard the gate." 

"Here's trickery," thought Milt. "I 
was led to believe it was to be some 
other gate for to-night's raid, or else 
I've got things badly mixed. The 
Squire said it was this gate ?" he add- 
ed aloud. 

"That's what he told mother. I 
didn't see him. You musn't ever tell 
that I told you, never !" she insisted. 

"I never will," he declared fervently. 
"And how did the Squire know about 
it ?" he added thoughtfully. 

"I don't know, likely from the man 
who is acting the spy for him." 

"I wonder who that man can be ?" 

"I don't know, but the Squire's got 
somebody in his pay who is not only 
spying on the raiders but on you also. 
He's acting a double part." 

"And you say the gate is to be 
guarded to-night?" 

"Yes, the guards will be here soon." 

"Well, perhaps that may scare the 
raiders away," said the young man re- 
assuririgly. "I'm awful glad you told 
me about it." , 

"I thought you ought to know," said 
Sally in a low tone, "for perhaps you 
have friends that might be interested 
in such news." 

"This gate shall never be molested 
as long as I can do anjrthing to prevent 
it," said Milton Derr earnestly, bend- 
ing sideways until his arm encircled 
the waist of the pretty toll-taker on 
the platform; "and if it ever is, you 
can understand that I am powerless 
to save it Good night, sweetheart !" 


The girl stole quietly into the toll- 
house after her lover had ridden away 
toward the misty hills. She found her 
mother still sleeping soundly in her 
chair, quite oblivious of surroundings, 
and little dreaming that the secret the 
Squire had i^ged her to keep so se- 
curely had reached a third pair of ears 
already in its swift joumeyings. 

Catching up her sewing again, 
which she had quickly dropped on the 
floor in her eagerness to see the be- 
lated rider, 5ally began to sew away 
industriously to make up for lost time, 
while her thoughts flew a good deal 
faster than her needle. 

Her surcharged mind was now hap- 
pily relieved of a portion of its bur- 
den of fears. There was no longer 
any danger threatening her sweetheart, 
so far as the present intended raid was 
concerned, and possibly this itself 
would fail of fruition. 

Soon after ten o'clock the sheriff 
and a posse of armed men appeared. 

"You keep late hours. Miss Sally," 
he said when she and her mother came 
out to receive them. "I expected to 
find you both asleep." 

"Not when we are expecting com- 
pany," the girl answered with a laugh 
that was somewhat forced; "that 
wouldn't be good manners, you 

"It's no use to go to bed," insisted 
Mrs. Brown. "I couldn't sleep a wink, 
not if my life depended on it, that I 
couldn't." Sally smiled faintly, 
thinking of the recent long nap her 
mother had taken, and of the warn- 
ing that had been given, quite un- 
known to the sleeper, thanks to this 
period of oblivion. 

"I do hope none of you will get 
hurt I" cried the girl in deep concern. 
"It seems dreadful to think that per- 
haps before morning a very battle may 
be fought right around this quiet 

"Don't be alarmed," the shcriflf m- 
sisted. "I look for little trouble or 
bloodshed * either." 

"No more do I," thought the pretty 

Digitized by 




toll-taker, with a secret satisfaction she 
admirably concealed. 

"I expect to take the rascals so com- 
pletely by surprise they will have a 
chance to make but little resistance/' 
the officer continued reassuringly, for 
the girl's apparent fear appealed to 
him. "Perhaps we may be able to 
capture the whole band without loss of 
a single man." 

A feeling almost bordering on res- 
ignation had gradually supplanted the 
disturbed condition of Mrs. Brown's 
mind since her daughter's reassuring 
confession that the Squire had placed 
a shelter at their disposal, in case the 
raiders deprived them of the one they 
now had. • She began to feel that the 
threatened calamity might, after all, 
take on the characteristics of a dis- 
guised blessing, since it would help to 
bring to a climax a state of affairs 
she had long striven, though unsuc- 
cessfully, to mold to her purpose, and 
that through the raiders the Squire 
might also manage to get him a wife, 
which, up to the present moment at 
least had proven a most elusive quan- 

With the coming of the posse to 
guard the gate, Mrs. Brown's spirits 
took on almost a jubilant turn, for 
though the raiders might fail in their 
present venture, they would ultimately 
succeed in the destruction of the New 
Pike gate, and its doom would proba- 
bly not be far distant, in spite of of- 
ficers or guard, while the price of its 
downfall would be the speedy realiza- 
tion of the mother's fondest dreams 
concerning her daughter's future. 

"We might just as well lay down 
on the outside of the bed, dressed as 
we are," said Mrs. Brown, as she led 
the way into the house, after the men 
had been placed on guard. "It's no 
use stayin' up, though, of course, I 
don't expect to close my eyes the en- 
tire night, for nobody can tell what 
may take place before momin'." 

"The raiders may not come, after 
all," ventured Sally, hoping to allay 
her mother's evident fears, "though, 
as you say, it's just as well to look 
presentable, in case we should be 

turned out of house and home in the 
middle of the night." She gave a 
covert glance in the small looking glass 
on the tall dresser as she spoke. 

"There's at least one that will not 
be captured to-night, whether he is a 
raider, or whether he isn't, and the 
Squire may find that his traps are not 
as carefully set as he thinks," said 
the girl to herself as she blew out the 
light, and lay down. 

The incidents of the past few days 
came crowding confusedly through her 
brain as she lay thinking over the 
many entanglements that seemed tight- 
ening their meshes closer and closer 
about her. 

As the night grew on apace, a sug- 
gestive sound by her side proclaimed 
that her mother had fallen asleep, de- 
spite all predictions of a watchful vigil, 
and as the girl lay and listened to the 
droning monotone, it finally lulled her 
into forgetfulness and slumber. 

Darkness and silence hovered over 
the New Pike gate, and while its in- 
mates slept on through threatened dan- 
ger, others were yet awake and watch- 
ful along the opposite side of the road, 
their alert and crouching figures hid- 
den in the gloom of the sheltering 
stone wall as the guard impatiently 
awaited the coming of the raiders. 


At the captaifi's arrogant words, 
flung at Derr in the wake of a scorn- 
ful laugh, the raiders began to move 
slowly in the direction of a near-by 
cedar thicket darkening the entrance to 
the quarry. At this spot the horses 
were hitched, guarded by a member of 
the band, who at the same time guard- 
ed the approach to the rendezvous. 

Milton Derr stood motionless, silent 
and defiant, with tightly compressed 
lips, and in his dark eyes a vengeful, 
half exultant light. 

Should he let them go unwarned? 
This was an easy and speedy way to 
even up with Jade Beddow for his 
insulting words, and his intended blow 
to Derr through the downfall of the 
New Pike gate. 

Digitized by 




Silence on the part of his enemy 
would surely bring harm this night to 
the captain of the band, and also to 
the raiders themselves, yet many of 
these were Milt's friends^ and must 
not be sacrificed to his own hot anger 
and hatred of one man. This were 
cowardly. It was his duty to speak 
out plainly for their sakes. Under- 
standing this, he made a sudden move 
forward, and called out sharply : 

"Listen to what I have to say !" 

As the men looked back he raised 
his hand wamingly. "The captain has 
given you his reascms as to why I 
have so frankly spoken against raid- 
ing the New Pike gate to-night, now 
I will give you mine." 

He paused a moment and looked 
around on the waiting crowd. 

"It's because the plans of the night- 
riders have been found out, and a 
posse of men are now waiting at the 
gate to give a warm welcome to those 
who come." 

At his words a sudden confusion fell 
among his listeners, as when a bomb 
is exploded in the ranks. The men 
stood irresolute, alarmed, looking first 
at the captain, then toward the 
spokesman, whose tall dark figure 
loomed up against the background of 
gray rock dimly outlined by the ex- 
piring fire. 

The captain hesitated, uncertain 
what move to make; then he came 
back a few steps to where Derr stood. 

"How do you know this ?" he asked 

"I know it," answered the other 
quietly, "and that's enough." 

"But how do you know it ? Who told 
you ?" The l^der grew msistent. 

Derr compressed his lips and made 
no answer. 

The captain gazed at him steadfastly 
some moments, then turned abruptly 
toward his men. 

"You have heard what he says, boys, 
that our plans are found out, and die 
gate under guard. If this is true, 
there's a traitor in our midst, and this 
is his work." 

A deep silence followed these sug- 
gestive wor^s. The men glanced fur- 

tively at one another, as if a sudden 
distrust had arisen, specter-like, 
among them. The band separated 
into little groups and fell to talking in 
low tones among themselves, with 
now and then a suspicious lock shot 
in Milton Derr's direction, but he stood 
silent and impassive, a little apart 
from the others, seemingly oblivious 
of these glances, or of the words to 
which they gave rise. 

"This may be only a hatched up tale 
to scare us oflf," suggested the cap- 
tain at last, looking inquiringly around 

"Remember, I have given you all 
fair warning," Milt said quietly, look- 
ing beyond the leader to where the 
men stood in scattered groups. 

"Who is your authority for this re- 
port?" the captain once more 

"I learned it, that is all you need 
to know." 

"When did you hear it?" 

"In time to warn you." 

The captain turned away with an 
impatient gesture and a muttered 
oath. "Perhaps it wouldn't be a hard 
matter to tell how the toll-gate peo- 
ple learned of it," he said with mean- 
ing emphasis in his tone. ^ 

"There may be something in this, 
after all, so what's the use of running 
into danger when you can steer clear 
of it?" asked one of the raiders. "The 
New Pike gate will keep till another 

"But if there's a traitor in our midst, 
what other time is so safe for us ?" the 
leader interrogated. "The only course 
before us is to strike now and as often 
as we can, guards or no guards. For 
my own part I don't believe the gate 
is guarded." 

A warm discussion arose among the 
men, and hot words were bandied to 
and fro. A few favored the postpone- 
ment of the intended raid. Several, 
along with the captain, were inclined 
to discredit the story that the gate 
was under guard, and the majority 
advocated a bold assault, even in the 
face of danger, which served to lend 
a certam zest to the act. 

Digitized by 




Through it all Milton Derr stood si- 
lent, and offered no advice. 

"Well ! what shall we do, boys — go 
or not?" asked the leader impatiently. 

"Put it to a vote." 

"Agreed I" the leader answered. 
"All who favor making the raid, step 
to the right. How many of you? 
Twenty. A fine showing, my trusty 
lads ! Cowards are in the minority to- 
night. If one goes, all should go. 
Only a traitor would hesitate. To 
your horses !" 

"Free roads! Down with the toll- 
gates!" The cry arose in a hoarse 
howl as the men moved quickly in 
the direction of their horses. 

Derr stood hesitating, abashed and 
vanquished. If he now refused to go 
along with the -others it was but the 
signing of his own death warrant, and 
the invoking of swift punishment. He 
would be proclaimed a traitor, branded 
as one. Rather would he run the risk 
of getting killed by the officers of the 
law than thus incur the enmity of the 
band, and perhaps suffer the penalty 
of a traitor's deed. 

By his presence he might still be of 
some benefit to the inmates of the toll- 
house threatened, and possibly through 
the influence of friends among the 
raiders the building might be spared 
and only the pole cut down. 

If the captain persisted in venting 
his anger and spite on a couple of 
helpless and defenseless women, and 
was fully determined to bum the New 
Pike gate, and make a repetition of the 
Cross Roads affair then — Milt's hand 
unconsciously grasped the handle of 
his pistol — ^the band might be speedily 
called upon to elect a new leader. 

Milt slowly followed the raiders 
down the hill and joined them at the 
thicket. At a word from the captain 
the cavalcade set out through the keen 
frosty air, the clang of many hoofs on 
the loose stones along the way echo- 
ing amid the silent hills, and break- 
ing sharply into the quiet of the night. 
Now and then, a tiny trail of sparks 
flashed beneath the flying iron shoes 
like a nest of glow-worms scattered 
into the darkness. 

Around the base of frowning, tall, 
uprising hills the raiders swept in a 
swift gallop, now through gloomy 
rock-bound ways, past quiet fmn- 
houses, by fallow fields, following Ac 
winding courses of the road that 
trailed under the dim starlight like a 
ribbon of mist between the silent, 
opaque hills. 

Still on and on the horsemen rode, 
sometimes dropping into a slower gait, 
then spurring their horses anew, with 
never a jest as they rode along, nor a 
fling of laughter or song to the dark- 
ness — ^a shadowy, silent band with sug- 
gestion of deep-set purpose in the omi- 
nous quiet they maintained. When 
at last they swung around the curve 
of the pike and came in sight of the 
New Pike gate, the captain drew rein 
^d called a brief halt. 

"Go forward!" he commanded, se- 
lecting Derr for the mission. 

"Let me go ! I'm not afraid !" has- 
tily cried another member of the band, 
a's Milton hesitated and seemed on the 
point of refusing. It was Steve Jud- 
son who spoke, and there was a touch 
of eagerness in his voice as he made 
the request. 

"I have chosen the one to go," said 
the leader sternly. "If the gate is 
guarded, as he seems to think is the 
case, he is on better terms with the 
toll-takers an' their protectors than 
any of us." 

"Aw, let me go!" persisted Steve. 
"That's alyvrays l^en my duty, an' I'm 
not afraid to shirk it now. Send me 

"You stay here!" commanded the 
captain decisively. "I've got other 
work for you when the time comes." 

"Go forward!" the captain con- 
tinued, addressing Milt. "If you find 
the coast clear, ride on beyond the 
gate, then signal us, an' guard the road 
from that point." 

"I have told you that I believe the 
gate to be guarded," answered Den- 
quietly. "I have warned you that it 
was to be. Do you command me to 
ride into almost certain danger?" 

"If you know it to be guarded, 
you stand in no danger from your 

Digitized by 




friends/* answered the leader coldly. 
*'If we find you have betrayed us you 
will stand in very great danger from 
your enemies." 

"I have not betrayed you, I have 
<mly warned you," insisted Milt. 

"Then you should be willing to share 
the danger with us. A brave man 
never fears danger if his duty demands 
it. Go!" 

"I will go, then, since you command 
it. Remember, though, comrades," he 
added, turning to the members of the 
band who were nearest to him, "if I 
fail to get back, my blood be upon this 

He turned and rode quickly through 
the darkness toward the New Pike 

[To be continued] 



I NEVER had much use for 
goats," said Old Wash the oth- 
er night, "an' I got less use for 
'em now than ever. They may be as 
good to eat as sheep to some people, 
but when I hears a man say dat, ef 
he's white, I looks for his head to be 
all cymling and his foots all giblets, 
an' ef he's black I looks for blue gums 
an' wropped hair. Ever' now an' den, 
dey gits up a goat craze in de South 
an' dese city men whut edits farm pa- 
pers in cities tells whut a pow'ful lot 
uv money dey is in goats. After tell- 
in' how dey eats up ever'thing nuthin' 
else will tetch — not even barrin' a car- 
ryon cro' — ^an' can live an' prosper on 
a dry spot so nigh de wicked place 
dat nutWn' else cu'd live dere wid col' 
feet unless dey walked on stilts, dey 
den proceeds to tell how fast dey can 
prop-a-gait, which is a big word dey 
uses to tell how soon an' nachuUy a 
little sissy kid goat gits to be a nanny. 
"It ain't often I drops into poetry, 
but heah is de way I figures it out : 

Two little goatscs, out in de sno' 
Dey sits married an' den dar is fo'. 
Fo' little goatscs longin' to mate. 
Bare is de larder, but soon dar is eight 
Eigfat Uttle goatses, weeds, an' no mo'— 
Weeds is for true love an' now twenty-fo'. 
Twenty-fo' goatses climbin' de gate, 
Ewtt^whsLT dey oughtn't be— now eighty- 
Eighty-eigfat goatses, all in de com, 
Still studyin' 'rithmetic — two hundred's 

Two hundred goatses on house top an' 

Dey drops six hundred by de rule uv three ! 
Six hundred goatses, locustin' de land, 
Living on lizards, love-knots and sand. 
But sand is deir manna — dey marry ag'in, 
Now sixteen million, nine hundred an* ten ! 

"Did you urver notice, Marse John, 
de turrible hard slam de Bible gives 
de goatses? An' when de Good Book 
tags a thing it's dar for all eternity 
an' warranted not to fade. Of all de 
animules in de ark, snakes an' goatses 
is de only things dat is imder de ban. 
You know whut de snake done — 
tempted Eve, an' de rest of us been 
stayin' in after skule ever sense an' 
takin' our spankin'. But de way it 
throwed off on de goatses wuz wussur 
still, fur it laid every low-down white- 
livered thing that happened on de 
goatses. Whenever a ole Jew had 
done sumpin' specially low down' an' 
wanted to He out uv it hisse'f, he'd rub 
asserfeterty an' gypsy juice on some 
goat an' start him th'oo de wilder- 
ness. Dey call him a scapegoat be- 
cause dey thought he orter be thank- 
ful to 'scape wid his life, seein' he 
kerried so many other fo'kses sins on 
his back. An' de smalles' white man 
in all history, in my 'pinion, is dat ole 
'sateful, oily Abraham dat had thou- 
sands uv goatses an' yet made a scape- 
goat uv his own son an' turned him 
out in de wilderness to die. I preaches 
'gin him ever' chance I gits an' when 

Digitized by 




I die I don't wanter go to no Abra- 
ham's bosom. No, suh, I'd ruther 
take my chances whar dars sum wool 
an' a warm spot! Hit looks lak ole 
'sateful Abraham cu'dn't keep away 
from goatses — always doin' sum dev- 
ilment an' layin' it on goatses. But a 
man buys back ever rascally trick he 
sells to others at las', in his own coin, 
an' so ole Abraham got his back in a 
goat. It wuz when dat boy Ikey uv 
his'n fooled de ole man an' got Esau's 
birthright 'cause Esau wuz nachully a 
hairy one — (no wonder, his daddy had 
goat on the brain all his life!) — ^an' 
Ikey, who wuz smooth, he jes' put on 
a goat skin an' made de ole man think 
it wuz Esau. When he found it out 
I'll bet he thort uv Hagar an' Ishmael 
dat he played it so low down on. 

"Oh, you kin jes' bet a man gits 
whut he sows in dis worl'. 

"When ole Abraham tried to turn 
his little innocent but onregistered boy 
into a scapegoat, he nurver thort his 
big boy Ikey, so godly an' so circum- 
sized, would bob up an' be de real 
thing at last. 

"Ole Abraham started de thing an' 
all de others kep' it up an' all th'oo 
de Good Book de sins uv de world is 
laid on goatses. Dey even studied it 
out fur de Jedgment day when dar'U 
be a big separashun uv de sheep an' de 
goatses, an' all sinners will be turned 
into goatses. This allers struck me as 
correct, for dere is jes' about dat much 
difference 'twixt a game, ole, naughty, 
bad-smellin' sinner an' a weak, no- 
'count, sissy, bah-bah, goody-goody! 

"An' it's all in favor uv de 

**Es fur me, give me a goat over a 
sheep ever' time. A goat smells bad 
to some fo'ks, but he'll hustle for his 
own, is dead game, don't complain, 
'tends to his own business, ain't stuck 
up an' is a pow'ful ladies' man. You 
nurver heah of a goat-killin' dog — no, 
sah, but I've seed a many a dc^-killin' 
goat. An' de best way to save a 
flock uv cowardly sheeps is to put a 
few billies in amongst 'em. But a 
sheep — de' thing we Christyuns is 
picked out es emblem of all dat's good 

an' holy, Marse John, it's a shame! 
He's a meek-faced, flop-yeared fool, 
so silly he'll jump into a bottomless 
pit ef his nigh neighbor happen to fall 
in, an' so cowardly any yaller cur can 
chase an' kill de whole flock. Whilst 
his big horns an' stiff neck is puttin' 
up a bold game of bluff, his slinkin' 
limber tail, floppin' betwixt his legs, is 
doin' all it can to lie out of it! Dey 
ain't got sense enuff to keep a crow 
offen deir babes when bom, dey himts 
fur all de soft spots in de pasture an' 
dey quits to anything dat gits a good 
holt on dey wool. Don't put up no 
lamb on my tomb when I'm gone, 
Marse John. If I've got to be pic- 
tured an' disgraced as a animule an' a 
nachur faker after I'm dead an' it's 
a ch'ice 'twixt de goat an' de sheep, 
carve for ole Wash a game ole goat, 
wise unto salvershun, keepin' his own 
council, speakin' no evil, stickin' to de 
middle uv de road — sl good ole prop-a- 
gaitin' populite, whiskers an' dl! 


"But I started out to tell about dem 
nervus goatses. I lives down nigh 
Marse George, an' he's got a flock uv 
dem goats, dat run in de pasture wid 
de fine mares. You know brood mares 
nurver git sick if a goat stays among 
'em, fur de smell uv de goat is so 
servigrus, dat whenever a microbe uv 
eny breed gits a good whiff uv it, he 
des' gasps an' smiles an' dies, as de 
poet sez uv de hero soljer. An' so 
Marse George he keeps dem goats wid 
his mares, an' do' he 'low us to go thoo 
any other part uv de farm, he don't 
'low nobody to make a common pass- 
way thoo de paddock. But de other 
Sunday es I went to preachin' I wuz 
late, an' thinkin' Marse George would- 
n't keer dis time I tuck a short cut 
thoo de paddock. I seed de flock uv 
goats an' de mares an' colts but I wuz 
so busy wuckin' out my sermon, de 
tex' of which was, *And he separated 
de sheep frum de goats/ dat I run 
ober a kid asleep in de grass befo' I 
seed it. *Bah'bah,' sez de kid, jumpin' 
up so sudden 'twixt my legs dat I 
jumped two feet offen de groun'. Den 
I gin him a kick when I hit de yearth. 

Digitized by 




clap my hands to make him run an' 
seel, 'Bah'bah, yo'se^f! 

"Wid dat ever' goat dar started to 
run, but jes' hollered bah-bah an' 
drapped dead ! 

"An' when I seed whut I'd done I 
mighty nig^ done it myse'f . 

"I started on a run fur de fence, 
but looked back an' de groun' wuz 
jes' kivered wid goats kickin' an' stif- 
fenin' out an' dyin'. I 'spected to see 
de mares an' colts timible nex' so I 
makes a break over de fence an' over 
de hills back home. 

"No mo' sermon fur me dat day. 
I'd seed all I wanted to see about 
goatses, unless it wuz how to raise 'em 
frum de dead. 

"I kep' hid out all day, wonderin' 
ef anybody seed me. All night I 
dreamed uv goats— dreamed it wuz de 
last great day, dat Marse George wuz 
de great Jedge, an' when my time 
come I wuz cast over among de 
goatses. Dey had all des' riz to be 
j edged, but at sight uv me dey all 
drapt dead ag'in, jes' like dey did in 
dc paddock, hoUerin' *No, bah-bdi, no. 
He too mean to live wid us/ 

"Sho' nuff, at breakfus' heah cum 
de sheriff, an' reads me a writ an' takes 
me to de jestice cou't. 

"I nurver had been 'rested befo'. I 
wuz scandlized an' ruined, all by a 
lot uv goatses. I axed *em to let me 
see you, dat you'd go on my bond, but 
dey dragged me befo' de squire. 

"You nurver seed sich a trial ; ever'- 
body wuz dar, an' de trouble I wuz in 
seem to give generl satisfacshun. De 
Majah he spoke ag'in' me, tellin' de 
jestice dat I went into de paddock an' 
kilt de whole flock uv goatses. 'He 
WU2 so tarnal ugly dey all drapt dead 
at sight uv him/ he say. He kep' dat 
an' some mo' up fur a hour, an' he 
had de whole cou'thouse, jedge an' all, 
at-lafl&i' at me. I nurver seed fo'ks hab 
so much fun an' I nurver felt so mean 
an' low down. De Majah 'splains it 
wuz a flock uv ve'y unusual goatses, 
called Nervous Goats, an' dat dey wuz 
wuth a hundred dollars apiece, an' 
he figured out dat I owed Marse 
George des' five thousand, six hun- 

dred dollars an' de state pen two years 
hard labor fur trespass ! 

"Wid dat I jes' gib up. I'd figured 
dat ef it cimi to de wuss dey wuz 
wuth 'bout two dollars each an' I 
knowed I cu'd sell de filly an' pay dat. 
But dis jes' mint me. I wanted to die. 
I wuz willin' fur to sell all I had an' 
pay up, but de Jedge sed I'd hafter 
make a speech an' 'splain how it wuz 
or he'd hafter gin jedg^ment fur de 
amount an' hang me afterwards. 
Hit looked lak dey wuz gwine to make 
it es miser'bul fur me as dey cu'd so 
I done de bes' I c'u'd wid a heavy 

" 'Marse Jedge an' Gen'lm'n,' sez I. 
'I'm a ole nrgger, dat hab libed a godly 
life gwine in an' comin' out befo' you, 
an' nurver got into no trouble befo' 
till I got tangled up wid dat ar lot uv 
goatses in de paddock an' I think dis 
wuz de same breed dat will be on de 
Lord's lef han' at de jedgment mom. 
Dey am na'chuUy de chillun uv dark- 
ness an' dis heah wuz a put-up job on 
me fur to make me furgit my sermon 
an' do de debble a good turn. Gen'l'- 
m'n, when dem goatses all drapped 
dead on me, don't you kno' I wuz des' 
as skeered as dey wuz, an' de only rea- 
son I didn't drap too wuz because I 
didn't stop rimnin' long enuff ? I wuz 
in de same fix dat Marse Jack Reeves, 
uv Hardeman County, wuz when he 
got dmnk, missed his train an' wuz 
put in de same bed by de landlord wid 
a dead man dat had been laid out in 
de hotel. 'Bout two o^:lock he got so- 
ber enuff an' thirsty enuff to tsike no- 
tice an' he heerd two young fo'ks talk- 
in' sweet in de room an' de young man 
wuz tryin' to kiss de gal. But she said, 
'George, you mustn't try to kiss me 
whilst we/re sittin' up wid a corpse/ 
an' den Marse Jack puts out his han' 
an' feels to see who he is sleepin' wid 
an' de face he teches wuz marble! 
He wuz in his night clothes an' it 
was a race 'twixt him an' de young 
fo'ks as to which 'ud git to de open air 
fust. But he 'lowed in de piece he 
writ about it, dat he wuz des' es bad 
skeered as dey wuz. Now dat's de 
way it wuz wid me an' de goatses, 

Digitized by 




genTrn'ri, an' I think I got skecr cnuff 
widout bein' fined an' saunt up.' 

"Dis seem to tickle 'em mighty, an' 
de jedge said dat defo' he would de- 
cide he thort it jcs' an' right fur all 
hands to go down to Marse George's 
farm an' see jes' how many goatses I 
did kiU. 

'TDis kerried, an' dc sheriff hand- 
cuffed me an' dey all tuck me down to 
Ewell Farm, an' I felt 'bout de sheep- 
killines' dog dat ever wuz. I seed 'em 
all winkin' an' laughin' es dey went 
along, an' me a-beggin' 'em to let me 
go off an' die. We went to de pad- 
dock an' dar wuz anurr flock of 
goatses, 'zac'ly lak de CMies I'd kilt. I 
looked at 'em 'stounded lak, fur I seed 
I'd lef some seed goatses, an' know- 
in' how dey prop-a-gaits, I jes' na'- 
chully thort dey'd done all dat in two 

" 'Dar is a new flock,' sez de sher- 
iff. 'Now, ole man, des' sho' us des' 
how you did manage to kill all dem 
other ones.' 

" 'Gen'l'm'n,' sez I, 'I wuz comin' 
'long right heah, a-wuckin' out my 
sermon, an' right heah,' sez I, 'I steps 
on a little goat entirely unbeknownst 
to me, an' he skeers me so I jumped 
twenty foot in de air, comin' right 
back down on dat fool goat, dat didn't 
do nufiin' but dance up an' down, hol- 
lerin' bah-bah, an' tangled me up so 
ever' time I step he'd be dar whar I 
step at. "Bah'bah," sez he, still a- 
dancin' 'twixt my legs. "Bah-bah, yo'- 
se*//' sez I; "t/ you cayn't run, fur 
Cord's sake git outen de way an' lem 

me show you how/' an' den, geni'm'n, 
so he'p he heab'n, I didn't do nuffin' 
but jes' gin a big whoop an' clap my 
hands like dis .' 

"I heard 'em all shout wid fun, an' 
I looks an' 'fore Gawd, I'd done it 
ag'in— ever' goat dar had drapped 

"I broke an' tried to run, dis time 
to de creek to drown myse'f . 

" 'Ketch him,' sed de Majah ; 'don't 
you see he is dc ole debbil hisse'f? 
Ketch him ; he's a witch.' 

"I stood par'lyzed, beggin' 'em to 
kill me an' den I seed one goat after 
anurr kick awhile an' den git up es 
solemn es deacons an' go to eatin' 
grass es nachul es a grass widder 1 

"I broke in a big laugh an' shouted 
an' de squire sed: 

" 'Resurrection mom. Wash — fust 
man up fur a mint julipl' 

"It wuz all fur fun an' dey had put 
it up on de ole man scanlous, but de 
aftermath wuz fine — a shady grove, a 
good barbycue uv dat very lad dat had 
skeered me so, watermillions an' mint 
julip I 

"But I nurver 'spects to heah dem 
white fo'ks tell de las' uv it an' 
nachuUy I keeps shy uv nervous 
goatses an' nervous fo'ks uv all kind !" 

[For fear Old Wash's friends will think 
this stoiy of the nervous goats is all made 
up, the Editor arises to say that the story 
is true and that in a near issue of Taylor- 
Trotwood there will be an account of this 
remarkable natural freak called nervous 
goats, with illustrations and a scientific ex- 
planation of the cause of their peculiar 



By Frank E. Anderson 

PEPPER, last evening's go at 
the Athletic was not a scrap. 
It was a fake for points," ex- 
claimed Mr. Mace, the Sporting Edi- 
tor, turning toward newsboy Jimmie 
Jones, whose fiery temper had earned 
him this nickname. But frtckly-ftced 

Jimmie was oblivious of O'Brien and 
Fitzsimmons for the time being; he 
was bobbing his red top-knot and 
stamping his bare feet to the lively 
strains of "Smoky Mokes," which the 
band was playing up Pennsylvania ave- 
nue as the wd of the circus procession 

Digitized by 




passed — two baggy white and scarlet 
clowns, leading a gray and black ani- 
mal placarded: "$io to the Man, 
Woman or Child Who Rides this Ze- 
bra To-Night." The Sporting Editor 
laughed. Then he thought of his own 
childhood and sighed. 

A half hour later he was in his 
sanctum on the fifth floor at News- 
paper Row. He had forgotten the 
parade, and was typewriting a half- 
column of fill-in on the race trades 
at Benning's and St. Asaph's as educa- 
tional centers for clerks who bet the 
money of their employers for luck on 
the horseshoe or a racer's hoof in 
nu>tion, when he was startled into 
temporary locomotor ataxia by Pep- 
per, who whirled in, roaring out : "I'm 
J. PierpcMit Morgan, but Mom 
squeezes me till I can't take a fly at 
any kind of stock. Lemme twenty- 
five cents, an' if I win, we diwy." 

Well, the Sporting Editor's weekly 
pro-quod might have paid for ten 
minutes' refreshments at the Raleigh. 
With the important items of dri^s 
and tobacco and car fare to meet, to 
say nothing of incidentals, board and 
lodging and clothes, he had no coin 
to throw away. But, next after a hot 
finish, he loved a boy with a game 
streak — so Jimmie got his quarter. 

♦ 4c 4c « 4^ ♦ 

"I dropped in," protested Pepper, 
the next morning . . . 

"Mix up in short-arm hooks and 
jabs or you'll drop out," growled Mr. 
Mace. "The Black Demon walloped 
another chump beef-and-ale champion 
in London yesterday, and I'm just 
rooting up Denver Ed's previous 
mills. . . ." 

". . . to thank you for treating 
to the circus," continued the lad. "As 
you're so swift. 111 blue-pencil every- 
thing except the trick zebra. His gait 
and shape were the regular edition. 
But his stripes ... I laid a wet 
finger on one. It left a gray spot in 
the black. *If s a horse on me, if you 
ain't a mule,' says I. 'You never saw 
any more of Africa than you could 
find in your driver.' Yet he was a 

wild beast of a tame brute. With ears 
low and tail up, he so speedily made 
rubber balls of a white man, several 
niggers and three or four boys that 
Mr. Ringmaster nigh split his coat 
with laughing. 

" 'Nolx)dy seems to want that re- 
ward,' he says. 

" 'I'll take a try at it,' I chinned in. 

"'Life insured?' he cracks. 

" 'They're not needin' more news- 
boys to handle extras of the Sun or 
Evening Star in heaven at present/ 
I fired back. 

"He says, 'You're tolerable flip,' an* 
he flicked at a fly with his whip. 

I hopped on the zebra. Gee, whoa ! 
That equine jumped at the roof and 
didn't miss it by much. Bunching his 
hoofs, he waltzed. Up on his hind- 
legs and reverse! He see-sawed, 
trotted, galloped, cavorted sideways. 
And budc! Come up! How he 
bucked! As soon as I had a chance 
I yanked two wads of raw cotton from 
his ears. He stopped short and 
switched himself. Laying his head on 
edge like a countryman listening for a 
train, he shook it. Out bounced quick- 
silver! A second shake and some 
more popped from the other ear. 
Then he simmered into the gentlest 
and most sociable mule you ever saw, 
an' he let me ride him straight at Mr. 
Ringmaster, like we had been friends 
from childhood. 

"'Take your William,' remarfced 
that gentleman. 'You're a pretty slick 
article. How'd you like to g'long with 
the show ?' 

" 'I'm a young thing and cannot 

leave my mother,' I says. And that's 

all, Mr. Mace, except here's your half. 

At this point Jimmie covered the 
Black Demon's picture with a five. 
For a second the Sporting Editor 
gazed at the youthful financier, after 
which, rising, he took his ninety-eight 
cent Derby and handed back the bill, 
saying : 

"I'm not big enough to rob J. Pier- 
pont Morgan. Sidestep, Jimmie. The 
beers are on me." 

Digitized by 



By Anna Erwin Woods 

[Amnffod from tli« pAp«rs and peraonAl memoirs of Andrew Brwln) 

CHAPTER Xni— Continued 

My brother had gone to Charlotte 
with my father, and he and I talked 
together about all which had happened 
there. He said to me : 

**Ned,it was our uncle who prepared 
those resolutions which have declared 
us to be a free and independent people, 
sovereign and self-governing, under 
the control of no other power other 
than that of our God and the general 
government of the Continental Con- 
gress. These were his very words, 
and then there were others just as 
noble, pledging our lives, our fortunes 
and our sacred honor to the mainte- 
nance of our independence, and those 
resolutions were unanimously adopted, 
and they were read aloud from the 
courthouse steps by Thomas Polk. Oh, 
Ned, there were brave men at Char- 

"You speak truly, Hal," I said, 
with my heart full of a strong impulse 
for independence, the same feeling 
which so soon was to take full and en- 
during possession of all the men and 
women of the western world. "The 
men of Carolina," I continued, "are 
brave men. No province has come out 
boldly like ours. They have shed their 
blood in Massachusetts, but they have 
not declared their independence. I am 
proud that my mother is a Brevard, 
and she has the true spirit, too. Do 
you remember, Hal, my telling you 
about the wife of James Robertson? 
Of how she acted that time when he 
went to Oconostota ? She did not say 
one word nor shed a tear. Whatever 
Robertson does she thinks is right ; she 

^Begun In the May Issue. 

is a woman of a great deal of sense; 
and I believe that her faith in him 
makes Robertson such a strong man; 
such women gave men strength. Our 
mother is that kind of a woman. She 
thinks that whatever our father de- 
cides to do is wisest and best. I have 
never in my life heard her question 
one word he said. If all the men in 
the colonies could have such wives as 
Robertson's wife, and such mothers 
as our mother, I believe the men would 
be strong enough to build a nation 
greater than any on the face of the 
whole world." 

"Yes," replied Hal with equal ear- 
nestness; "if all the men of our colo- 
nies would be brave like those men at 
Charlotte, and declare our indepen- 
dence, we should be done with kings ; 
and we would give the world a lesson 
in freedom." 



Early in the spring of the year 1776 
we heard that instructions had been 
received from the British War De- 
partment to arm the Indians and ex- 
cite them to hostilities. In obedience 
to this command, the British agents 
among the tribes called t<^ther the 
different chiefs and warriors and made 
known the designs of their govern- 
ment. At first it could not be under- 
stood by the savages that the whites, 
who spoke the same language, would 
destroy each other, civil war being 
unknown among them. A majority 
of the tribes were gained, however, to 
the British interests by promises of 

Digitized by 




large presents in clothing, the plun- 
der of the conquered country, and that 
part of it which was on the Western 
waters to be reserved as their hunting 

My resolve was at once made to re- 
turn to Watauga, and I set out upon 
my journey, leaving behind the tender 
ties of home and kindred. Once more 
I stood upon the Appalachian moun- 
tain top, gazing heavenward, but in 
my sold were no dreams of love and 
home and quiet happiness, no vain 
longings, no vain regrets; my heart 
was filled with an eager desire to re- 
turn to the stem, adventurous, 
strangely fascinating life of the wil- 
derness. There I would cast my fate, 
and I would share the toils and dan- 
gers of those children of Virginia and 
Carolina who Ind been thrust out to 
hew their way through the vast, som- 
ber forest. 

The bold spirit of the men at Char- 
lotte had awakened my soul to the de- 
light of freedom, and the act of the 
British Government in arming the sav- 
ages filled my heart with thoughts of 
vengeance. A vision of the future 
came to me — of bloody warfare with 
savage tribes, which was to try the in- 
domitable spirit of border men and 
women, that fiery, restiess race, so 
fierce in intensity of purpose, so irre- 
sistible in sustained ejnergy. They 
it would be who would build a border 
empire in the basin of the Mississippi. 
They would be masters of the great 
river, along waters whose outlet 
should be, not the Atlantic, but the 
Gulf of Mexico. 

Soon after my return to Watauga a 
warning was received from our friend, 
the humane Prophetess of the Chero- 
kees, that we would be attacked. A 
messenger was sent to the Committee 
of Safety, in Virginia; but at that 
early period of the Revolution the ex- 
ecutive authority of Virginia was a 
feeble body. No aid could be sent to 
us; and from that day we learned the 
lesson that not only must we men of 
the border defend ourselves, but we 
wilderness dwellers must be a living 
bulwark to keep back the savage tribes 

from the country of the Atlantic coast. 
There would be waged the war of 
civilized man, but for us would be 
savage butchery. 

We soon learned that large bodies 
of Indians were on the warpath, and 
a council was held to determine wheth- 
er to await their attadc or to march 
out in search of them and fight them 
wherever they could be found. Sev- 
eral forts had been built in the differ- 
ent settlements, but it was decided to 
march and meet the savages. Soon 
the inquiry among us was not, "How 
many Indians are there ?" but, "Where 
are they to be found?" Sometimes, 
when we did not succeed in finding 
and fighting them, they would devas- 
tate the whole country with fire and 
tomahawk, committing massacres by 
day and by night, torturing women 
and dashing out the brains of children 
against the trees. 

So terrible and widespread did 
these outrages become that men were 
raised in both Virginia and Carolina 
to march with us into the heart of the 
Cherokee settiements and destroy 
them. Fearless of danger and regard- 
less of hardships, through forests and 
rivers we marched by night, as well 
as by day; there was no need for 
army trains, for when there was time 
for sleep, wrapping ourselves in our 
blankets, the wilderness gave us shel- 
ter as it gave us food. With the sure 
and steady aim of the border men, our 
rifles never betrayed our trust, wheth- 
er we sought deer or bear or buffalo 
or savage. 

With determined purpose we devas- 
tated their towns and villages, laid 
waste their crops and drove off their 
cattie. So completely was this work 
done that they were forced to make a 
treaty early in the year 1777. Through 
that year, however, scouting parties 
of Indians still continued to kill and 
plunder the inhabitants upon the bor- 
ders of the settiements and were pur- 
sued and punished by our rangers. 

In making these attadcs the Indians 
would seldom come in force, but acted 
individually or in small parties. They 
would conceal themselves in bushes 

Digitized by 




or weeds, or behind trees or stumps; 
sometimes they would waylay the 
paths or fields of the settlers; then 
they would fire a gun or let by an ar- 
row\ If necessary, they would retreat, 
but if they dared they would advance 
upon their killed or crippled victim 
to take his scalp if possible. 

They would aim to cut the garrison 
off from supplies by killing the cattle, 
watching the watering places and de- 
stroying the fields. When their own 
stock of provisions was exhausted they 
would supply themselves by shooting 
game. In the night they would 
place themselves near the fort gate, 
so as to sacrifice the first person who 
appeared in the morning; and during 
the day, if there was any cover, such 
as grass, bushes, stones or a clod of 
earth, they would crawl along toward 
the gate and fire at whoever came near. 
Sometimes they would approach the 
wails and attempt to fire them or to 
beat down the gate. At other times 
they would make a feint to attract the 
garrison on one side while they at- 
tacked on the other. 

Such was the enemy with whom we 
had to contend. In combat they were 
brave ; in defeat, dexterous ; in victory, 
cruel. Neither age nor sex were 
saved from their tomahawk and scalp- 
ing knife. It was only at intervals, 
when we had compelled them to retire 
for a while, that we could plow our 
com, gather our crops, get up our cat- 
tle^ or hunt game for our food. Our 
traveling load to be done at night, 
leaving the paths and not daring to 
build fires. 

With such foes we soon acquired a 
fortitude, dexterity and wiliness great- 
er than their own. Our frontiers were 
soon so well guarded by our militia 
that the savages began to consider 
their incursions as perilous to them- 
selves as to the pioneers, and at length 
forbore to make them. It was finally 
decided that peace might be main- 
tained by the good offices of a Super- 
intendent of Indian Affairs, and Cap- 
tain James Robertson, as Superintend- 
ent, was directed to reside in the 
Cherokee Nation. 



Peace, for the time being, was se- 
cured for our settlement, and I con- 
sidered it an opportune occasion to 
carry out my long cherished desire to 
visit Boone in Kentucky. I had heard 
that during the early summer of the 
year 1775 he had built a fort on the 
south side of the Kentucky River, 
near a salt lick at a place which wt 
now call Boonesborough. 

I started in search of him, going 
through Cumberland Gap over a road 
which you know as the famous Wil- 
derness Road, but at that time we 
spoke of it as Boone's Trace. As soon 
as Henderson had made his treaty 
with the Cherokees at Sycamore 
Shoals, in 1775, of which I have told 
you, he immediate sent Boone for- 
ward with a company of choppers and 
markers to cut out a road, and it was 
over this that afterwards all the early 
settlers traveled to Kentucky. Hen- 
derson himself, with a large company, 
soon followed Boone; their progress 
was slow, and after going a short 
distance with wagons these had to be 
abandoned. I have seen a letter which 
Boone wrote Henderson at this time, 
urging him to come forward as soon 
as possible, and as it is concise and to 
the point, I will repeat it to you. It 
was in these words : 

**My advice to you, sir, is to come 
or send as soon as possible. Your 
company is desired greatly, for tlie 
people are very uneasy; but are will- 
ing to stay and venture their lives 
with you, and now is the time to flus- 
terate [frustrate] the intentions of the 
Indians, and keep the country whilst 
we are in it. If we give way to them 
now it will ever be the case." 


It was about the middle of April 
when Henderson and his company 
arrived, and the great country of 
Kentucky was beginning to appear in 
its most gorgeous beauty. The build- 
ing of the fort at Boonesborough at 
once gave a feeling of strength and 

Digitized by 




permanence to the settlers. A very 
distinguished explorer, James Harrod, 
came down from the Monongahela 
country into Kentucky and built a fort 
at a place called Harrod's Town, the 
site of the present Harrodsburg, and 
likewise there was a small settlement 
about six miles east, called Harrod's 
Station. Colonel Benjamin Logan 
and Colonel John Floyd, of Virginia, 
whose families you know well, also 
established forts and settlements. The 
McAfees and others, whose names of 
note you would at once recognize, 
were among the first to come. 

During my visit to Boone he showed 
me the grand old elm tree which had 
served as the council-house for the 
first legislature of Kentudqr. It was 
at his fort and had a beautiful carpet 
of white clover. Immediately upon 
Henderson's arrival he had proceeded 
to organize a government and had 
issued a call for an election of dele- 
gates to the legislature of Transyl- 
vania. One of the first subjects con- 
sidered by them was the protection 
of the game; without game and com 
Kentucky could not have been settled. 
They also passed an act for preserv- 
ing the breed of horses ; the Kentudcy 
spirit of to-day was abroad even from 
the b^^ning. 


Soon after my arrival I made the 
acquaintance of a young man by the 
name of James Ray, who lived at Har- 
rod's Town. It happened that one 
day Ray went out with a friend to try 
his gun near the fort, and in a few 
minutes his companion was suddenly 
shot dead. Following the direction 
of the shot, Ray perceived the enemy, 
but while he was attempting to re- 
venge his friend's death, he found 
himself surrotmded by a large body 
of Indians who had crept up unseen. 
Exposed to their fire, he made a swift 
retreat for about a hundred and fifty 
yards, but when he approached the 
fort we, who were within, did not dare 
open the gate to admit him. The 
number of Indians was so great that 

•The preMDt dty of Pittsbnrff, Pa. 

it would have meant certain death for 

There happened to be a stump just 
seven feet from the fort, and Ray suc- 
ceeded in getting behind that. There 
he lay under the fire of the Indians, 
whose balls every now and again 
would throw up the ground around 
him; but they did not dare to come 
within the reach of our fire. Ray's 
mother was in the fort looking on for 
four hours at her son in this perilous 
situation. At last Ray called out, 
"For God's sake, dig a hole under the 
wall and take me in!" We imme- 
diately went to work and successfully 
dragged him in. 

I alluded just now to Ray's swift- 
ness in running; through his nimble- 
ness of foot he had the year before 
saved the fort from a surprise, by 
escaping from the Indians and giving 
notice of their coming. When Boone 
was afterwards captured by the Chief 
Black-Fish he told him that there was 
a boy at Harrod's Town who could 
outrun all his warriors. During the 
whole summer the Indians were 
around the fort so that no crop of corn 
could be raised. There were in Ken- 
tucky at this time a little over a hun- 
dred guns, as we called the men. 
These were divided between the forts 
at Boone's, Logan's and Harrod's ; the 
pioneers in these stations being sepa- 
rated by three or four hundred miles 
of Indian wilderness from their coun- 
trymen at Fort Pitt,* and six hun- 
dred miles from the seat of the Vir- 
ginia government at Williamsburg. 
You will understand that, of course, 
Kentucky was considered a part of 
Virginia, looking to that colony for 
government but not for help ; like all 
other people of the frontier, they had 
to protect themselves. 


One day as I was talking with Ray, 
I observed a fine, soldierly-looking 
man standing near, and asked : "Who 
is that man? I have not seen him 

"That is George Rogers Claric," an- 

Digitized by 




swered Ray. "He is from Virginia, 
and he is a fine man. I will tell you 
about the first time I ever saw him. 
I had been out on the range to turn 
some horses out and had killed a duck 
which was feeding in the spring. 
Going up on the brow" of the hill I 
kindled a fire and was roasting my 
duck when some one suddenly ac- 
costed me, and turning around I saw 
a man who said: 'How do you do, 
my little fellow ? What is your name ? 
^'Aren't you afraid of being in the 
woods by yourself?' I answered his 
questions and invited him to take some 
of my duck. He found it so good that 
he ate it all. Then I asked him his 
name and business, and he answered : 
'My name is Clark, and I have come 
to see what you brave fellows are 
doing in Kentucky, and to lend you a 
helping hand if it is necessary.' He is 
one of the finest men, Ned, you ever 
saw, and I am not sorry I gave him 
my duck." 

After that I met Clark and found 
him extremely agreeable and manly in 
his deportment and remarkably intel- 
ligent in his conversation. There was 
about everything around him and to 
a spirit of enterprise which rendered 
him very interesting;. He showed a 
desire to inform himself accurately 
about everything around him and to 
cultivate the acquaintance of all the 
people. He was a great deal in the 
woods and he also visited the forts 
and other places. He was probably 
about six and twenty years of age 
at the time I met him, as I think he 
was born in Albemarle County, Vir- 
ginia, on November 19, 1752. As I 
saw more and more of Clark I learned 
to have a still higher appreciation of 
him, although I admit that I was very 
far from recognizing the consummate 
ability of the man or foreseeing the 
great achievements he was to accom- 
plish as a leader. 

I think he had first visited Ken- 
tucky simply as a romantic adventure ; 
but he soon recognized its value as a 
frontier to Virginia and to the rest of 
the Confederacy, and was constantly 
devising plans for its defense. His 

*V!noennM, Indiana. 

efforts were unceasing to secure aid 
from the Virginia government; but 
although he met with the cordial ap- 
probation of Governor Patrick Henry, 
he was not successful in attaining his 
object. The tremendous struggle of 
the American Revolution demanded 
all the energies of the commonwealth. 
What was not fully appreciated at 
this time, although it was later in the 
progress of the Revolution, was the 
fact that the parent states were saved 
from the ravages of every Indian en- 
gaged upon the border. 

Clark had seen at a glance, what 
had never been considered by any one 
else, that the sources of the Indian de- 
vastations were to be found in the 
British posts of Detroit, St. Vincent's* 
and Kaskaskia. The clothing, ammu- 
nition and arms supplied at these mili- 
tary stations to the Indians stimulated 
their heart-rending ravages. Could 
these places be taken and a counter in- 
fluence established over the savages, 
the horrors perpetrated upon the bor- 
ders would, in a great measure, cease. 
To none of these ideas, however, did 
he give expression ; he merely declared 
his intention of going to Virginia on 
other matters of business. I had been 
rather closely associated with Qark 
since being in Kentucky, and my lik- 
ing for him was so great that when he 
extended to me an invitation to ac- 
company him to Williamsburg I very 
gladly accepted it. 



We left Kentucky on October i, 
1777, and upon our arrival in Virginia 
found the people in fine spirits, the 
news of the victory of our army under 
Gates at Saratoga and the capture of 
Burgoyne having just been received. 
There were universal rejoicings and 
congratulations, and all men's hearts 
seemed filled with hope. 

It was upon this visit to Williams- 
burg that I had the honor of meeting 
for the first time Governor Patridc 
Henry, and also the great Thomas 

Digitized by 




Jefferson, being invited by the govern- 
or to dine at his table when the dis- 
tinguished statesman was his guest. 
I recall that it was the loth day of 
December. Being the only person 
present who had taken part in the 
wars upon the frontiers against the 
Cherokee Indians, I was called upon 
to answer many questions in regard 
to their ravages and the terrible na- 
ture of the atrocities practiced by 
them ; and as I spoke of these, all who 
listened seemed filled with horror and 
to feel that such deeds must call forth 
a feeling of desperate vengeance. 

Even on the frontiers we had heard 
of the noble Declaration of Independ- 
ence written by Thomas Jefferson; 
and on this occasion I listened with 
deep interest to every word which fell 
from his lips. In speaking of the out- 
rages committed by the savages, Mr. 
JeflFerson told us of William Pitt's em- 
ployment of Indians in the Colonial 

"Spain," said the earl, "armed her- 
self with bloodhounds to extirpate the 
wretched natives of America, and we 
improve on the inhuman example of 
even Spanish cruelty; we turn loose 
these savage hell hounds against our 
brethren and countrymen in America, 
of the same language, laws, liberties 
and religion, endeared to us bv '^very 
tie that should sanctify humanity." 

There was profound silence wheii 
Mr. Jefferson finished quoting from 
this great speech, and he went on to 
give an extract from another speech 
made by Pitt: 

"If I were an American, as I am an 
Englishman, while a foreign troop 
was landed in my country, I would 
never lay down my arms, never ! nev- 
er ! never !" 

Although I knew nothing of it at 
the time, I have since been told by 
Qark that it was during that very eve- 
ning of December loth that he ob- 
tained a private interview with Gov- 
ernor Henry and laid before him the 
plan of his Illinois campaign. The 
governor was captivated by the bril- 
liant prospect of strikingr such a fatal 
blow against the enemy in the heart 
of tfieir savage allies. He appreciated 

the hazard and daring of such an at- 
tempt; particularly as the secrecy in- 
dispensable to success forbade the 
communication of the plan to the leg- 

I have always believed that the only 
persons from whom Governor Henry 
sought counsel were George Wythe, 
George Mason and Thomas Jefferson ; 
all three of whom possessed the high- 
est confidence of their fellow citizens. 
I was aware that he held several con- 
ferences with these gentlemen at the 
time, but of course I had not the 
slightest idea as to what matters were 
occupying their attention. As I 
learned afterward, most minute in- 
quiries were made into Clark's plan 
of campaign, and especially his propo- 
sition that, in event of defeat (which 
seems to have been quite expected), 
he would retreat to the Spanish pos- 
sessions on the west side of the Missis- 
sippi, upper Louisiana, as it was 
called. The Spanish officials who 
were in authority over this country re- 
sided at what was then the little town 
of St. Louis; but the inhabitants of 
that town and of all that country were 
French, as were also the people on the 
east side of the Mississippi; but the 
British held that part of the country. 

The result of all these deliberations 
was that on January 2, 1778, George 
Rogers Qark received two sets of in- 
structions from Governor Henry ; one 
public, directing him to proceed to 
Kentucky for its defense, and the oth- 
er secret, ordering an attack on the 
British post of Kaskaskia. 

On February 4th we set off on our 
return to Kentucky. Clark afterward 
said: "I was clothed with all the au- 
thority I could wish." Few leaders 
would have taken this view, as what 
was furnished him was twelve hun- 
dred pounds in depreciated colonial 
currency, a suitable order on the offi- 
cer at Fort Pitt for ammunition and 
boats, and directions to raise his troops 
west of the Blue Ridge, lest he should 
weaken the Atlantic defense. 


There were some pioneers going 
from Virginia to Kentucky, and al^o 

Digitized by 




some other adventurous persons who 
accompanied us upon our return. 
Among the latter was a young Vir- 
ginian by the name of Charles Gor- 
don, with whom I had been quite 
closely associated during our stay in 
Williamsburg. Between Gordon and 
myself there had sprung tip a feeling 
of friendship, or I should rather say, 
a feeling of good comradeship, found- 
ed much more upon love of adventure 
than upon patriotism. 

Accompanying Gordon was a 
Scotchman by the name of Donald 
McLean, a good deal older man than 
himself, and of much humbler place 
in life. Donald told me that, during 
many generations Gordon's ancestors 
in Scotland had been the lairds of the 
estate upon which his own forefath- 
ers had lived. After the uprising in 
that country in favor of "Prince Char- 
lie," called by the enemies of the Stu- 
arts "the Pretender," Gordon's grand- 
father had been exiled by King 
George's government and had come 
to Virginia, bringing with him a num- 
ber of his followers, among others 
Donald's father. 

Donald had passed his life at the 
beautiful home of the Gordons, near 
Williamsburg, and had been made 
head gardener of that place. His loy- 
alty to the family rivalled his devofion 
to the royal house of Stuart and its 
exiled princes, and to the Free Kirk 
of Scotland. 

When we reached Fort Pitt we met 
with some difficulties, and one day 
Gordon said to me: "Ned, the people 
here are saying that, instead of Clark's 
weakening the country by attempting 
to defend Kentucky, he had better let 
the Indians keep their hunting ground 
and move the Kentuckians bade into 

"By the omnipotent Jupiter him- 
self I" I replied, feeling my blood boil 
with resentful indignation, "you and 
the rest of these people know very 
little what you are talking about w"hen 
you speak of removing the Kentucki- 
ans like so many chattels. Wait until 
you have seen that country and then 
say whether you would give it up to 

"Oh," exclaimed Gordon, "I under- 
stand about the extraordinary beauty 
and fertility of all that great western 
wilderness country, but it seems to be 
as much as a man's life is worth to 
attempt to live^ there." 

"Yes," I answered, with a tone of 
derision in my voice, "I suppose you 
people on the Atlantic coast think you 
are brave and know something about 
danger and hardship. But wait until 
you have lived and fought with the 
men on the western side of the moun- 
tains; wait until you have gone into 
the wilderness with Boone and Har- 
rod and Logan and .Floyd and all the 
rest of these giants in body and soul. 
And they are doing giants' worfc ; they 
have determined to conquer the wil- 
derness and to be masters of it." 

"Indeed," said Gordon, "they will 
surely have terrible work to gain the 
mastery now that the British have de- 
termined to let loose the savages upon 

"We have had some dealings with 
the savages," I answered, "and we ex- 
pect to have a good many more. You 
are going down here with Clark now 
to see how we manage such things, 
are you not?" 

"Yes," replied Gordon, "I have 
come with Clark with the hope of 
some adventures, and of course some 
danger and hardship thrown in. I 
suppose he will make us a pretty good 
leader for such things." 

Little we dreamed what it would 
mean to follow Clark. 



Colonel Clark dispatched Major 
Smith to the settlement on the Hol- 
ston to recruit, and Captain Harrod, 
Captain Bowman and Captain Leon- 
ard Helm were sent to other settle- 
ments for the same purpose. Claiic 
himself continued his course to the 
Falls of the Ohio River, where he for- 
tified a post opposite the present town 
of Louisville. Here we were joined 
by the different detachments; and 
then, for the first time, Clark disclosed 

Digitized by 




his real destination. The troops were 
informed by him of his purpose to 
invade the Illinois territory and to cap- 
ture the British forts, and, with the 
exception of one company, we all ar- 
dently concurred in his plans. 

With baggage consisting of the bar- 
est equipment we began to descend 
the river. On our passage down the 
river Colonel Clark received a letter 
from Fort Pitt, informing him of the 
French alliance. This news was most 
propitious, as it afterward aided us 
in establishing friendly relations with 
the French inhabitants of the Illinois, 
and also with the Indians. 

Soon after we had landed at the 
mouth of the Tennessee we met a par- 
ty of hunters who had recently been 
in Ka^askia and could give us some 
valuable information. They said spies 
were stationed on the Mississippi, and 
all Ind&ns and hunters were ordered 
to keep a lookout for the rebel Vir- 
ginians.* They told us that the fort 
which commanded the town was kept 
in good order, but the military defense 
was attended to more as a matter of 
parade than from any expectation of 
the necessity to guard against an at- 
tack. If this should be anticipated, 
the force of the place was capable of 
giving the Americans a warm recep- 
tion. These hunters thought that if 
we could surprise the place there 
would be no difficulty in our capturing 
it. They were from the American set- 
tlements, and expressed a desire to 
aid us in our enterprise, and we readi- 
ly accepted their offer to join us. 

They told us that the British had 
led the French inhabitants to entertain 
the most horrid apprehensions of our 
countrymen, as being more barbarous 
and more to be dreaded than the In- 
dians themselves. Qark at once de- 
termined to make use of this feeling 
of dread and horror as a valuable aux- 
iliary to his diminutive force. He 
thought that the more violent the 
shodc which his arrival would pro- 

duce, the stronger would be the ap- 
preciation of his subsequent lenity, so 
little to be expected from such bar- 
barians as we were represented to be. 

Everything being in readiness for 
our advance, the boats were dropped 
a short distance down the river and 
concealed. Then we took up our line 
of march, our commander being at 
our head and sharing in every respect 
the condition of his men. We pro- 
ceeded in a northwestern direction, 
through the present state of Illinois, 
and our progress was attended by lit- 
tle that was unusual in those times of 
privation, except that game and water 
were scarce. 

When we were only three days out, 
our chief guide became so bewildered 
that he forgot all the principal fea- 
tures of the country. This immediately 
aroused suspicion, and a general cry 
was raised to put the traitor to death. 
I had seen enough of Tories and trai- 
tors to cause me to be very suspicious, 
and to judge them without mercy. 
Gordon agreed with me and expressed 
himself strongly in favor of speedy 

'Tfe maunna be ower hard on him, 
Maister Charlie," said Donald Mc- 
Lean, who was marching at our side ; 
*'I dinna ken, but I will be judging 
he is a goot man. I hef seen that he 
has a hearty word for ilka body, and 
now may the Lord ha'e peety on the 
puir laddie and gi'e him Hcht to know 
the road." 

Upon the solicitation of the guide, 
Clark granted him permission to go 
into the prairie, in full view, and try to 
recover himself; and Gordon, Donald 
and I were sent with him to prevent 
his escape. The commander also 
sternly told him that if he did not con- 
duct the detachment into the hunt- 
ers' road which led into Kaskaskia 
from the east, and which he had fre- 
quently traveled, and which could not 
be easily forgotten by a woodsman, he 
should be hanged. 

*In ih\B part of th« country all Americans were called Virginians. 

\To he continued] 

Digitized by 



By Alice Frances Thomas 

BACK in a very remote corner of 
our sunny Southland, where the 
bear, the hare and the raccoon 
often met and danced to keep time 
with the music of the wolf's howl; 
where the cotton patch bloomed the 
whitest and the cornfield waved the 
greenest; where the morning larks 
sang together, and all the sons and 
daughters of Pap and Mammv Lucas 
shouted for joy — here once lived a 
happy family. Pap Lucas was king of 
the province, whose limit was Lucas 
farm, and Mammy Lucas was queen 
of the household, while their nine chil- 
dren were their only subjects, ready 
ever to do their bidding. 

One fine morning in September, 
long before the sun poured his mellow 
rays across the field of cotton sur- 
rounding the old log cabin where lived 
the Lucas family, Pap awoke from the 
peaceful slumbers of a long Septem- 
ber night. 

"Bill !" he shouted, for it was time, 
in his opinion, that the children were 
up and about their morning duties. 

Bill was the eldest of the nine chil- 
dren, and consequently it was appoint- 
ed unto him to be first in every call — 
first up in the morning, first to work 
in the cotton field, and first in the 
hearts of his parents. 

Now, Pap was comfortably situated 
on a nice cotton mattress which was 
placed upon a plain wood bedstead — 
both of his own make. The bedstead 
stood in one of the back corners of the 
only spacious bedroom of the Lucas 
residence, while Bill and the rest of 
the children were far less fortunate, 
for it fell to their lot to bunk around 
on pallets made of old quilts and blan- 
kets spread out on the floor so as to 
make room for all nine of the young- 
sters. They were, at best, somewhat 

crowded, and Bill, his rest having been 
broken by an occasional kick from Jim 
or some of the rest of the boys during 
the night, was not awake so early in 
the morning as was his father. So 
Pap's roaring "Bill!" came right in 
the middle of one of those good old 
morning snoozes enjoyed by a cotton- 
picking boy of the South. He was 
only sufficiently aroused by his fath- 
er's call to roll over and very indis- 
tinctly answer, "Y-e-s, s-i-r,' then away 
for. anotlier nap. A few moments of 
quietude, and the old man squalled: 
"Billy!" emphasizing his former call 
by the addition of a new syllable, and 
all the extra force of his lungs, mak- 
ing a noise, the other children thought, 
sufficient to raise the dead. But Bill 
did not move or stir, seeming to be 
away to the farthest limits of dream- 

"Creak, crack, cradcle," went the 
rickety old bedstead beneath its bur- 
den of three hundred pounds, as Pap 
slightly raised himself to reach for his 
persuader, which, in the form of a 
cowhide quirt, hung just above his 
head at night and suspended from a 
belt of the same material during the 

While Pap's call, "Bill!" and his 
louder yell, "Billy!" the roar of the 
loudest thunder, the fury of the hurri- 
cane, and the "pinch and git furtfier*' 
of the younger boys fail^ to rouse 
Bill, he was up and in his homespun 
trousers in the wink of an eye when 
the old bedstead appealed to him to 

The fires were soon made and the 
eldest sister, Sallie Ann, was up and 
stirring. Ere Pap, Mammy and the 
small children could prepare them- 
selves for breakfast, a sumptuous feast 
of flapjacks, red hot from the fr3ring 

Digitized by 




pan, syrup which did not have to be 
hemmed up in one comer of the plate 
with half a dozen biscuits in order to 
get to eat it ; and butter, fresh and cool 
from the milk trough, was ready to 
serve. Each place at the table was 
soon filled, and the good old free- 
hearted coffee pot shared its contents 
liberally with every man. 

Ah, the perfect, healthful appetite 
with which this breakfast was relished 
might call forth the envy of a king! 

The meal was soon finished, and ev- 
erything hastily put in the best order, 
for 'twas to be a great day at Lucas 
farm, a day to which all the family 
had looked forward with the pleas- 
antest anticipation. All the neighbors 
and the youngsters, far and near, had 
been invited to a cotton-picking, and, 
as Bill expressed it, "a tump-to-riiy- 
luly" afterward. Of course, all were 
expected, and Pap's keen eye could 
see his snowy white cotton field robed 
in a duller attire in the evening. Mr. 
and Mrs. Lucas and all the children 
were hastily dressed in their best, 
which consisted, in the main, of home- 
spun and jeans, with now and then a 
touch of calico and ribbon used as an 
ornament. They all wore substantial 
shoes of Pap's own make, while Mam- 
my alone wore a snowy white apron 
fresh from the Lucas laundry. 

At an early hour the guests began 
to arrive, by ones and twos, by tens 
and dozens, traveling in all the fash- 
ionable ways of the day, some walking 
and some riding on horseback, some 
on muleback, and some in farm wag- 
ons drawn by horses and mules whidi 
were so sleek that a fly no sooner 
lighteci upon them than he slipped up 
with a broken neck or leg. 

The ordinary greetings were soon 
exchanged, and the cotton pickers 
were off to the field in high glee. They 
were a regiment of true workers, who 
found pleasure in honest toil. By the 
time the sun had risen to a height in 
the sky from which he could peep 
over the fence enclosing the Lucas 
farm, a gay crowd of boys, girls, old 
men, little men and children had gath- 
ered in Pap's cotton field, which fairly 
glistened ahead of them in its snowy 

white dress, but was soon to be 
stripped of all its present glory. Each 
one was provided with a sack some 
eight or ten feet in length, with a 
broad strap attached to the open end 
to extend over the shoulders or 
around the waist, it being a matter of 
choice which way it was worn. Into 
these the cotton was put, handful after 
handful, until all the portion of the 
sack which lay on the ground was full. 
Then they were emptied, for no one 
desired the weight of the monstrous 
sackful on his back. They were boun- 
tifully supplied with baskets, which 
Pap and Bill had made by weaving 
thin strips of some hardwood togeth- 
er. Into these the sacks could be suffi- 
ciently relieved of their weight to en- 
able the laborers to carry them along 
without effort. Everything was ready 
and the eager workers were beginning 
their day's work and fun. You may 
well believe every one was very merrv. 

"Wait! Wait! Wait!" shouted 'a 
voice in the direction of the farm- 
house. All eyes were instantly turned 
and they saw Mr. Lucas coming at 
lightning speed. "Before ye start 
yore work," said he, out of breath 
from over-exertion, "I jist want to ex- 
press a feelin' uv mine. Right down 
in these old jeans pockets uv mine is 
a silver dollar,' bright as a star, and 
what I wanted to say is this : The one 
'mongst ye who brings in the most cot- 
ton this evenin' gits it." He slapped 
his jeans pocket, and having finished 
the expression of his feelings, he 
turned and walked leisurely back to- 
ward the house with an air of perfect 
satisfaction. Every one now went to 
work in downright, dead earnest, put- 
ting forth his best efforts to win the 
shining prize in Pap's pocket. It was 
an incentive which few workers in 
their locality had to prompt their ef- 
forts, and consequently Pap had their 
best talent displayed. The nimble fin- 
gers fairly snapped and popped as 
they grabbed and reached after the 
soft, white locks of cotton and played 
back and forth between stalk and sack. 

'Tore back must be a rubber string, 
Jim," said Bill, as he observed the 
nimbleness with which Jim Dunce 

Digitized by 




stooped and bent himself backward 
and forward, right and left, in quest 
of the snowy fleece. 

'1 can't say what it is made of," 
replied Jim. "I jist know that Mr. 
Lucas' dollar makes it powerful lim- 
ber/' He continued without stopping 
the excellent display of his wonderful 
ability as a cotton picker. 

"Jim must get the dollar if I have 
to help him do it/' put in Sallie Ann, 
who worked along with Jim. 

"Say, Jim, I do believe you'll have 
to send Sister Sallie back over her 
work/' laughed Bill Lucas, trying to 
call Jim's attention from his work, 
"for she's makin' these stalks look 
like half-picked geese, and it won't 
count if you win the dollar by goosin' 
the cotton. Why, she's leavin* half 
of it hangin' to the bolls I" 

"Yes, but I'll bet Pap never knows 
it," laughed Sallie, taking in the joke 
at face value. 

"The prize was to the one that gits 
the most cotton and not to him that 
leaves the least," said Jim, without 
ever raising his head from his work to 
see how much truth Bill was speaking. 

"Well, Sister Sallie'd be certain to 
git it if it was to the one who leaves 
the most." 

Jim Dunce and Sallie Lucas were 
soon far ahead of the other cotton 
pickers. Bill, the ablest picker in the 
crowd, remained with the main divi- 
sion of the laborers. When he began 
to get ahead of them he picked along 
on another row, knowing very well 
that he would excel all the others, for 
he had often before picked with this 
same crowd. 

"I declare, I'm gittin' awful hun- 
gry," said Bill, as he leisurely and 
easily piled the big handfuls of cotton 
into his already full sack. "Joe Lee, 
step across here a moment. I've got 
vsome important business with you.* 

"I will, if I get caught," replied Joe, 
as he tripped lightly over to where 
Bill stood, and something was whis- 
pered between them as they hastily 
stripped off their cotton sacks and 
walked rapidly away. Only a few mo- 
ments, and they reappeared carrying 
a heavy load of long, green-striped 

"Come, eat, one and all," called our 
heroic and big-hearted Bill, after he 
had split the watermelons, and at once 
proceeded to deal out liberal shares 
to every one. All answered the sum- 
mons with their presence except Jim 
Dunce and Sallie, who evidently did 
not hear the call, so intent were they 
on their work and conversation. 

"This looks like selflshness," said 
Bill, as he ate heartily of his mammoth 
slice, "but if them geese wants the dol- 
lar worse'n they do melon, let 'em go 

"Who will win the dollar and be the 
honored guest at the 'tump-to-my-luly' 
to-night?" rang out Bill's clear voice, 
so shrill that it could be heard all over 
Lucas farm every time the conversa- 
tion seemed to be ebbing low. 

In the old log kitchen, Mrs. Lucas, 
with the assistance of her good neigh- 
bor women, who were clever, indeed, 
at preparing delicacies, was busy pro- 
viding a toothsome repast for the la- 

"Mrs. Jones, do open that oven and 
peep at the pig," exclaimed Mrs. Lu- 
cas, in great fright lest she should 
spoil the least particle of the feast 
which she was determined should be 
perfect. "'Pears to me that I smell 
him burning, and law! if I haven't 
sot right here and let the sweet 'taters 
roast too hard," she continued, as she 
grabbed the fire shovel in great ex- 
citement and began snatching them 
from the fire as she continued her talk- 
ing. "Now, Sister Reuben, would it 
be askin' too much uv you ter git you 
ter put that b'iled 'possum right in 
this big oven so't I can be gittin' the 
table ready? Jes' put the sweet taters 
right round him an' in him an' all 
over him. An* I don't know if 
't^vouldn't add to the flavor to pepper 
him right good," Mammy instructed, 
as she proceeded to perform the whole 
work herself. "Now, I must be gittin' 
the greens an' the chicken an' the pun- 
kins an' the pies an' the custards an' 
the milk an' butter," said she, count- 
ing the different articles of food off 
on the fingers of her two labor-soiled 
hands, "an' law I I come mighty nigh 
forgittin' it, but I've got a ^cat big 
stnip cake that I cooked yisterday! 

Digitized by 




Well, I ain*t much for nicknacks, no- 
how, but they do very well to top off 
on. Sallie Ann wanted cake on the 
table, though, gal like. Tm a great 
hand for diet, myself. TU have to be 
in a hurry, for the comp'ny will soon 
be comin' in from the field — do notice 
the 'possum ! — ^and I don't want 'em to 
hafter wait a minute." She proceed- 
ed to scatter the many delicacies over 
the great table, the smooth clay floor 
receiving an occasional drop of the 
gravies- '*I declare to goodness. Aunt 
Sarah, if I hain't spilt grease on my 
bran'-new frock, and Sallie Ann 
worked so hard to make it stylish and 
nice for me to 'pear well at this occa- 
sion ! It's awful hard for me to 'pear 
an' act stylish, not bein' raised to it, 
but I jcs' hafter try, for my chillen's 
so proud-like. I guess I can wash 
the grease out," she said, somewhat 
recovered from the effect of the dis- 

Dinner time, and the guests began * 
to arrive from the field, laughing and 
chattering like a million bladcbirds let 
loose in the treetops of a pine forest. 
Many a day had passed since these 
youngsters had taken such wholesome 
drinks as Pap Lucas' well afforded — 
cool, fresh, thirst-quenching. They 
drank their fill from the golden goblet 
which once grew on Mammy Lucas' 
gourd vine. 

"D-i-n-n-e-r !" came Mrs. Lucas' 
shrill call from the kitchen, which 
was some distance from the other part 
of the house. It was a welcome sound 
for the smell of roast 'possum and 
sweet potatoes, pig and turnip greens, 
made the appetite sharper than any 
two-edged sword. They soon gath- 
ered in the kitchen and were seated 
around the long table where one con- 
tinued course of good things was 
served until they had done ample jus- 
tice to the wholesome farm dinner, 
after which they hurried back to the 
field to contest further for the silver 
dollar. The cotton-picking closed at 
four p.m. Then came the exciting mo- 
ment Sacks and basketfuls for some 
hands, and aprorifuls for others — 
'twould soon be determined to whom 
the diadem belonged. 

"Squire Comins," said Pap, when 
he saw the crowd gathering around 
his little cotton house, "you go right 
down yonder and weigh them chillen's 
cotton an' send the smartest boy or 
girl here ter git this dollar." 

"You needn't to count mine, for I'm 
not in the contest," said Bill. "Pap 
cayn't pay me* fur pickin' his cotton." 

Bill's withdrawal gave the prize to 
Jim Dunce, to the great delight of 
his partner, Sallie Ann, who had slyly 
put a part of her cotton into his sack. 

Half past seven, and all were in 
readiness for the party to begin. 
Mammy, with the assistance of Pap 
and the neighbor women in attend- 
ance, had during the cotton pidcing 
hours after dinner removed every ar- 
ticle of furniture from the bedroom. 
All the boys, girls, men. women and 
children remained for the party that 
night. Each one was straining both 
eyes and ears to catch a glimpse or 
hear the approach of the fiddler. 

"Well, chillen," said Mr. Lucas, as 
he drew himself up in his old arm 
chair, "ye might as well git ter play- 
in' an' singin*, fur these getherin's 
don't come ever' day, an' ye ought not 
lose a minute. Git right ter work on 
'tump-to-my-luly,' an' stop yer wor- 
ryin' about ol' Dave. He'll be roun' 
after while. I've been a-knowin' Dave 
these forty years, an' he never has dis- 
app'inted me yit." 

Following Pap's advice the young- 
sters were soon arranged in a big ring 
on the floor, marching around as our 
heroic Bill sang out, in a clear, loud 
voice : 

Go it boys, tump-to-my-luly, 
Go it boys, tump-to-my-luly. 
Go it boys, tump-to-my-luly, 
Tump-to-my-luly my darling/' etc. 

Ere they reached the second stanza, 
every one on Lucas farm had joined 
the singing and the swinging, which 
continued until Bill suggested that 
they change it into "A sweet sugar 
lump," to the perfect satisfaction of 
all concerned. The singing was then 
changed to 

That gentleman's rockin' his sugar lump, 
That gentleman's rockin' his sugar lump, 
That gentleman's rockin' his sugar lump, 

Oh, turn, sinners, turn " etc. 

Digitized by 




"Hello, Uncle Dave!'* exclaimed 
Bill in the very midst of the play, as 
he saw the old darky enter the room 
with his fiddle under his arm and the 
bow in his hand. "Now, boys, git 
yore partners for a b-i-g dance — eight- 
handed cowtillion." 

The fiddler and the fiddle put new 
life into the whole affair, and the ma- 
chinery which had carried the singing 
and swinging was easily adjusted to 
another tune. Uncle Dave was an 
important personage at all the parties. 
Attired in his long, buff linen duster,- 
high standing collar, red necktie and 
brown jeans pantaloons which were 
rather short, but large enough for two 
negroes his size, he took his seat with 
the greatest dignity and began tuning 
his fiddle. 

"Pap, you call the dance," kindly 
demanded Bill of his honored father. 

"Well, Uncle Dave, hurry with the 
music. These chillen cayn't hardly 
wait. You've tuned that fiddle 
enough — it sounds all right," said Pap 
in his eagerness for the dance to be- 

Uncle Dave drew himself up in an 
erect position and went off into the 
old air^ "Run, Nigger, Run," at the 
same time vigorously patting his num- 

ber thirteens, which dangled two feet 
out of his pants legs. Mr. Lucas be- 

"Honah yore pardners ; lady on the 
left, hands up and circle. Swing them 
corners ! First couple out to the right, 
change an' swing, an' nex' couple fol- 
ler, change and suhwing. Ladies in 
the center an' gents sashay to right ; 
skip yore pardner — suhTving! All bal- 
ance — suhwing! suhwing! Nex* cou- 
ple to the right — lady in center — circle 
three, an' suhwing! Ladies to their 
seats !" 

The dance thus opened. Pap took 
his seat and Bill called the "figgers" 
for the next dance — and the next and 
the next. 

Pap looked on the whole enjoyable 
affair with a broad smile. His heart 
thrilled with perfect rapture as he 
watched his own beloved children, 
as well as those of his neighbors, 
drink the brimming cup of pleas- 
ure. Parched peanuts and snowy- 
white popcorn w^re served at twelve 
o'clock, after which the party contin- 
ued until three, when the farm boys 
and girls went to their homes with the 
sweetest remembrance of the Lucas 
family, especially Sallie and her eld- 
est brother— Cotton Patch Bill. 


J. M. Scanland 

)ENED by 
:cess in forc- 
' way into the 
:hoois of San 
o, the Japan- 
n like manner 
rding the pub- 
►Is in Los An- 
d other cities 
tis throughout 
^^..*w*.Ja. Hereto- 
fore they have not attended these 
schools in such large numbers, and in 
many instances did not attend at all, 
owing to race prejudice. But now 

they swarm into the schools and defy 
the white people. It may be stated, 
however, that under the law where 
there are no special schools for those 
of the Mongoloid races the Japanese 
and the Chinese are entitled to attend 
the public schools. For the past quar- 
ter of a century San Francisco has 
maintained such a school. No other 
city in the state, not even Los Angeles, 
had a special school for Mongoloids. 
Yet, in none of these cities and towns 
did Chinese youth attempt to attend' 
the public schools. On the otlier hand, 
the Japanese have attended thes^ 

Digitized by 




schools, and in San Francisco they 
stubbornly refused to attend the spe- 
cial schools provided for them, ind in- 
sisted upon attending the white 
schools. Then they insolently claimed 
that the San Francisco officials were 
* 'discriminating" against them. Yet 
the Japanese government is "discrimi- 
nating" against its own people in pro- 
hibiting Korean and Chinese youth 
from attending schools in Japan. 
They make the flimsy excuse that the 
Chinese and Korean youth do not suf- 
ficiently understand the Japanese lan- 
guage. The Japanese language is de- 
rived from the Chinese and the Ko- 
rean languages, and until compara- 
tively recent years the Japanese used 
Chinese characters. Everything use- 
ful that they have was borrowed from 
the Chinese. They are descended 
from the Chinese, and Chinese pirates, 
at that. Consequently they are Mon- 
goloids, and come under the state 
school law. 

The island now known as Japan 
was the headquarters and base of op- 
erations of Chinese pirates for ages, 
and, like ancient Rome, it was the 
refuge for the criminals of the world. 
From this they grew into a nation of 
fifty millions of people, and are now a 
menace not only to the United States, 
but to the civilized world. Being a 
mixture of Chinese, Korean, Tartar 
and of the wild tribes of the moun- 
tains, they have retained the semi-bar- 
barous traits of these people, and un- 
derlying all is a stratum of cunning, 
treachery and dishonesty, which unite 
to make them the most peculiar of all 
the races in the world. They stand 
alone. Knowing their own degraded 
characteristics l^cause of this admix- 
ture of tainted blood of low species, 
they hate the Caucasian race, and af- 
fect a superiority over those from 
whom they sprang. They are restless 
and domineering — ^an enemy to man- 
kind, and now that they have gained 
recent victories the world will know 
no peace until Japan is reduced to a 
condhion when it can no longer blus- 
ter and threaten Christian nations. In 
the event of war, and it is more than 
probable, there should be no defensive 

and offensive treaty between a Chris- 
tian nation and Japan as against the 
United States. That war will be one 
in which the Caucasian races and the 
Christian world should unite against 
the Asiatics, who will strive for su- 
premacy over the white races. 

The Japanese are not original think- 
ers. They are imitative, and ovved to 
the Chinese everything they had, ex- 
cept their vices, until the United States 
opened their doors half a century ago. 
Since that time the Japanese have ad- 
vanced further toward civilization 
than they had in the previous thou- 
sand years, or even since their history 
began. They evolved no civilization 
among themselves, for its germ was 
not implanted within them as it is 
with the Caucasian races. That those 
in the United States will become 
Christianized or civilized is very 
doubtful. They are so steeped in big- 
otry, idolatry and zeal for their own 
belief that no reasoning power can 
change them. Furthermore, our reli- 
gion is not suited to the peculiar slug- 
gish mind of the Asiatic. They do 
not think as we do— that is, their 
mode of thinking is different, and 
their power of reasoning is very limit- 
ed and blunted, owing to their super- 
stitious training. Their nature can- 
not be changed. Nor will they ever 
become Americanized. They may be- 
come educated and still be uncivilized. 
Education is not civilization. It is 
the education that the Japanese desire. 
They care nothing for our civilization 
or Christianity. 

They are dishonest, from our stand- 
point of morality. They hold that 
any deception is permissible if by such 
deceit they can accomplish an object. 
They deliberately violate a contract, 
oral or written, and offer no excuse as 
a justification, only that more money 
can be made by this violation of faith. 
There is not a banker in Los Angeles 
or in San Francisco who will lend 
money to a Japanese on his note, un- 
less it be endorsed by a Chinese or a 
white man. They know to their finan- 
cial sorrow that all Japanese are falsi- 
fiers — that they deny their obligations, 
their word and their signatures, even 

Digitized by 




when under oath. The banks in Cali- 
fornia do not desire and will not have 
their business. Consequently, their 
banking business is done through the 
medium of Chinese, and the Japanese 
banks in San Francisco employ Chi- 
nese in the most important positions, 
as tlie Japanese will not trust their 
own countrymen. Any bank in Los 
Angeles will lend money to a China- 
man merely on his word — provided, 
of course, that he is known to be 
worth the amount asked for. That is 
the Chinese custom of doing business. 
They do not give notes, and it is an 
insult to ask them for security. 

In like manner the Japanese bazars 
in Los Angeles and in San Francisco 
are conducted by Chinese. It is the 
same in other important lines of busi- 
ness. This is a severe arraignment of 
the Japanese, especially as it is by 
themselves, and it places their moral 
standard at about the lowest degree 
of that of any people on earth. 

Like other Asiatics, they treat wom- 
en as chattels and as degraded things, 
scarcely human.. Japanese merchants 
buy their wives in Japan and later sell 
them to keepers of dens of infamy. 
Frequently these women are bought 
by others, who marry them, and these 
wives are received in Japanese socie- 
ty. The fact that a woman was once 
an inmate of such a place of infamy 
does not make her immoral, according 
to his oblique ideas. Since the exclu- 
sion of the Chinese, the Japanese have 
undertaken the importation of their 
women for this vile business, and have 
superseded the Chinese in the female 
slave traffic. 

Until the passage of the Chinese 
Exclusion Law, in 1880, 'Tbread riots" 
were frequent in California, and more 
than once the red flag of anarchy was 
carried through the streets of San 
Francisco, the laborers demanding the 
exclusion of Chinese, in order that 
they might earn bread for their fami- 
lies. At that time there were fifty 
thousand Chinese in San Francisco 
and its vicinity, and they had a mo- 
nopoly of the cigar manufacturing 
business and boot and shoe making. 
They were extensively engaged in the 

manufacture of all kinds of clothing, 
and were monopolizing the fisheries, 
underbidding the laborers in the fruit 
orchards, vineyards, hop fields, and 
on the ranches — in almost every 
branch of labor the hard-working, 
cunning Chinese was fOund. With 
the passage of this law the prosperity 
of California may be dated. Gradual- 
ly the population has decreased 
throughout the state to less than half 
that number. There were no labor- 
ers to take the places of those who 
died or ceased to work because of old 
age. No others came to learn the 
trades, and thus the labor in the fields 
and in the various trades and indus- 
tries again came into the hands of 
white men. The Chinese were not 
only depriving white men of labor, but 
draining the state of money by remit- 
tances to their relatives. The same 
thing is now being done by the Jap- 
anese. They are taking the places of 
Chinese laborers, and by their in- 
creased and increasing numbers, are 
also depriving white men of work, and 
are also remitting their earnings to 
their families in Japan. They import 
from Japan most of their provisions 
and their clothing. They spend as lit- 
tle as possible in the country where 
they work. The white man supports 
5 c h o o 1 s, benevolent institutions, 
churches, libraries, buys property and 
expends money on public improve- 
ments. Not so with the "Jap." What 
he finds necessary to spend is with 
his own people. He has his own sa- 
looas, tailor shops, shoe shops, hotels, 
general stores, etc., and he gets his 
education free, for he contributes al- 
most nothing in the way of taxation. 
He is an expert at swearing, and to. 
cheat an American, especially in the 
matter of taxes, is considered by him 
a patriotic duty. 

Closing the door upon the Chinese 
opened it for the Japanese. Our 
statesmen, or rather politicians, could 
not see very far ahead, otherwise they 
would have included the Japanese in 
the law. At that time there were only 
a few thousand in the United States, 
and congressmen could not reason 
that if we closed the door on one the 

Digitized by 




other would creep in, because cheap 
labor was desired by the railway com- 
panies and other corporations. They 
did not even see the necessity for such 
an amendment to the Exclusion Law 
in 1890, when the Japanese popula- 
tion in California had increased to 
about ten thousand, nor as late as 
1900, when it had reached twenty 
thousand, half of that number being 
in San Francisco and its vicinity. The 
Japanese population in the adjacent 
territories of Arizona and New Mexi- 
co, and throughout the northwest, had 
increased to about ten thousand, nuJc- 
ing about thirty thousand on the Pa- 
cific coast six years ago. That popu- 
lation has increased to seventy thou- 
sand, and about half of this number 
are in California. There are twenty 
thousand in San Francisco and Oak- 
land, across the bay, and there are 
eight thousand in Los Angeles and 
its suburbs. At this rapid rate of in- 
crease, it certainly did not require a 
high order of political science to see 
the coming trouble. Six years ago it 
was very apparent, and why a bill ex- 
cluding the Japanese is not passed 
now can only be attributed to the ab- 
ject fear on the part of our congress- 
men of being "offensive" to the Jap- 
anese government. We will find that 
in the Japanese we have caught more 
than a Tartar. We have caught 
something very difficult to shake off. 
The Chinese are docile, inoffensive, 
unpresumihg, law-abiding and satis- 
fied to occupy menial positions. Not 
so with the insinuating Jap. He is 
a laborer until he gets an education, 
at our expense, and learns our lan- 
guage and trades. Then he takes the 
place of the white man by working 
cheaper. It is not only the Japanese 
laborer that should be excluded, but 
the craftsman, mechanic and the 
worker at all trades. These are to 
be most dreaded. The Jap looks for- 
ward to easier work — that is, any- 
thing that is not menial. He is thus 
taking the places of those of the mid- 
dle lower classes. 

Japanese of all trades, occupations 
and professions, as well as laborers, 
should be excluded. They are a men- 

ace to our industries, our prosperity, 
our civilization and to the peace of the 
country. They contribute nothing to 
its support and live upon its resources. 
They are Asiatics by instinct, nature 
and training, and will ever so remain. 
In order to counteract what little ef- 
fect our civilization and Christianity 
may have upon them, "missionaries" 
are sent from Japan to San Francisco, 
and to Los Angeles, to preach their 
cult, and, above all, to continually re- 
mind them of their duty to remain 
loyal to the Japanese government. 

During the past several months the^ 
have been swarming to Southern Cali- 
fornia in large numbers, and espe- 
cially to Los Angeles. It is proposed 
to establish a "Japanese city" near 
Los Angeles, and it is understood that 
three hundred thousand dollars have 
been subscribed for that purpose. Los 
Angeles is rapidly becoming "Japan- 
ized," and in every part of the city 
may be seen their employment agen- 
cies, stores, hotels and saloons. The 
Jap saloon is the roughest and most 
disorderly resort that can be imagined. 
More Japanese are arrested for disor- 
derly conduct in Los Angeles in one 
wedc tfian there are Chinese for simi- 
lar offences in one year. The crimi- 
nal records show that there are eight 
times as many Japanese in the state 
prison as there are Chinamen. The 
five thousand Chinese in Los Angeles 
are "colonized," or rather live in their 
"Chinatown," and are little or no trou- 
ble to the police or to the dtizens. 
The Japanese scatter into every part 
of the city, where they may under- 
mine laborers and tradesmen. Wher- 
ever the Jap locates, property at once 
depreciates. White people avoid hini 
as they do a pest — that is, self-respect- 
ing white people. Not even the Chi- 
nese will live near the Jap. The same 
conditions prevail in San Francisco 
and in other cities and towns through- 
out the coast that are afflicted with 
the presence of. these pests of civili- 

Every community is infested with 
spies. Japanese are employed on our 
steamships and war vessels. Many of 
them are spies, and should war be de- 

Digitized by 



clared no doubt some of these vessels 
would be blown up by these spies. 

The recent one-sided agreement by 
which Japanese children were permit- 
ted to attend the white public schools, 
and laborers were not to be permitted 
to enter upon the '^mainland" without 
passports, was suggested by the Japan- 
ese Minister at Washington. It was 
done so in a dictatorial manner, and 
our government medcly accepted it, 
contrary to law and public sentiment. 
Japan is now using the Hawaiian and 
the Philippine Islands as military 
bases, and when a sufficient number 
of men have been landed there and 
trained, as is now being done, a de- 
scent will be made upon the "main- 
land." This is plain to any one with 
ordinary intelligence. These islands 
are coveted by Japan as advanced posi- 
tions for the conquest of North 
America. With an unbounded ambi- 
tion that verges upon folly, they be- 
lieve that they are the "coming peo- 
ple," and are destined to rule the 
world. They seek to dominate the 
white race. Their hatred toward the 
United States assumed an aggressive 
form several years ago when our 
President, without authority, project- 
ed himself into the peace conference 
between Russia and Japan. The Jap- 
anese government desired to levy a 
"tribute" of about one billion dollars 
upon conquered Russia. To foil these 
robbers and Ishmaelites of the world 
was to invite their eternal hatred. 
Then active colonization of the islands 
began. The claim that the Japanese 
authorities "discourage" and will con- 
tinue to discourage the emigration of 
its people is a very thin subterfuge, 
and it requires no acumen to see 
through the duplicity. The Japanese 
government officials secretly encour- 
aged and directed the migration of 
Japs to the Hawaiian Islands, and 
most of these are soldiers of the re- 
cent wars. Here they are given mili- 
tary training and are divided into bri- 
gades and divisions, and all of the 
male Japanese on these islands have 
been provided with arms of modem 
make. These arms are bought through 
secret societies, which levy an assess- 

ment weekly upon each member, and 
every subject belongs to one of these 
societies. If the government provided 
these arms it would naturally arouse 
inquiry, but they have cunningly 
adopted this underhand business to 
avert that suspicion. Our military of- 
ficials seem to be asleep at their posts. 

When the Hawaiian Republic re- 
fused to grant suffrage to the Japan- 
ese, that government began to ship 
swarms of its people to the islands, 
with the intention of forcing this de- 
mand, and, perhaps, taking possession 
of the islands. But the transfer of 
the islands to the United States 
blocked their plans, and this also is 
another cause of their hatred of the 
Americans. At present there are 
about thirty thousand Hawaiians on 
the eight islands. Thou^ citizens of 
the United States, their loyalty in the 
event of trouble is doubtful. The 
same may be said of the forty thou- 
sand Chinese and the seven thousand 
"Kanakas." The white population is 
about eight thousand. There are six- 
ty-five thousand Japanese on the is- 
lands, of which, it is estimated, at least 
fifteen thousand served in the recent 
wars against China or Russia. Thirt>' 
thousand are males between the ages 
of sixteen and fifty years, and are 
capable of bearing arms. The remain- 
ing twenty thousand are women, chil- 
dren and old men. Practically Japan 
has possession of the islands. We 
have not a fort on the islands, and 
there are not five hundred soldiers at 
our army posts. 

The swarm continues, the arrivals 
being about four thousand a month. 
They are supplanting the Chinese on 
the sugar plantations, and in every 
other class of labor. A few months 
ago the arrivals from Japan were only 
2,500 a months 

Colonization of the Philippines con- 
tinues at the same rate, and, in addi- 
tion, they are swarming into this 
country from South Ajnerica and 
from Mexico. A steamship company, 
owned by Japanese, brings cargoes 
monthly to South American ports to 
work in the silver mines and on rub- 
ber plantations, under contract, re- 

Digitized by 




ceiving about sixty-five cents a day. 
They soon learn that wages are high- 
er in America, and find their way to 
the Pacific coast. They are shipped 
by the immigration agents in "tran- 
sit," through San Francisco, but many 
of them elude the officers and do not 
continue the journey. Of this num- 
ber, and of the number who return 
from South America, there is, of 
course, no record. But the number is 
estimated at frc»n five hundred to one 
thousand monthly. The arrivals at 
the port of San Francisco are from 
three thousand to five thousand 
monthly, and all of these are under 
contract to the immigration agents, 
and are at once distributed by them to 
sections of the coimtry where cheap 
labor is most likely to find a demand. 
In most instances the contract is made 
with the employer before the Japan- 
ese are shipped to this coimtry. This, 
of course, is in violation of the labor 
contract law, but it is evaded by false 
swearing, at which no Japanese will 

In view of the rich field offered to 
cheap labor, it is idle to suppose that 
the Japanese government will "dis- 
courage" the emigration of its pover- 
ty stricken subjects, especially as that 
government has entered upon a career 
of conquest and plunder ! On the con- 

trary it is reasonable to suppose that 
emigration would be encouraged, and 
that is what is being done. This is 
proved by facts. The statements of 
Japanese officials to the contrary is 
mere duplicity. There is little nation- 
al honor among Asiatic nations, and 
personal honor is so rare among Jap- 
anese that it is an exception. Mi Asi- 
atic government will adhere to a trea- 
ty only so long as it suits its conveni- 
ence and interests. They are still in 
the feudal ages, and respect only su- 
perior power. They cannot imder- 
stand why a country will make conces- 
sions, unless through fear. And in 
receding from our rightful position 
on the public school question the Jap- 
anese government officials believe that 
it was done through fear, rather than 
a desire for peace. And it looks as 
if their estimation is nearly correct. 
Consequently further concessions will 
be demanded until the expected hap- 
pens. It will be a war not of Ameri- 
ca against Japan, but of the Christian 
and Caucasian world against the Asi- 
atics. It will be a war of races, of 
civilization against semi-barbarism, 
for the possession of Europe and 
America. It will begin unexpectedly 
and treacherously in tiie same manner 
that Russia was attacked by Japan, 
that Ishmaelite of the world. 


By Jeanette Sterling Greve 

'OME now, Israel," 
called an old woman 
from within the 
mountain cabin. 
"Jeems'll be hyer 
'fore long, an' ye 
know he cain't abide 
ter see ye wastin' yer 
time over that ever- 
lastin' readin'." 
The frail thin boy 
who sat on the doorstep did not stir. 
He was bent low over a book, striving 
to catch the last rays of the sunlight 

which tinged with a rosy glow the 
top of "Old Baldy," towering high 
above him. 

"Thar ye air, at it ag'in I I reckon 
I'll jest bum up that trash fer ye!" 
The harsh voice of a tall man coming 
along the path fell on his ear and the 
boy jumped up precipitately. 

"Git on in an* eat yer hoe-cake, boy ! 
Ye've got ter be up airly in the mom- 
in' so's ter help Euthasy shear them 
sheep. I'm goin* a-huntin'." 

Fellers strode into the cabin and 
Israel followed him without a word. 

Digitized by 




"Jttms," said Euthasia, as he sat 
down to the simple fare which she 
placed before him, "thar was a feller 
hyer this arternoon axin* could he git 
a cabin ter start a school an' have 
preachin' o' Sundays." 

Israel leaned forward with an eager 
look on his face. 

"Wal, I s'pose ye told him thar 
ain't?" The man brought his fist 
down on the rickety table with a 
thtmip that made the few plates and 
cups rattle. " 'Slong 's Jeems Fellers 
has the say-so in this valley, thar'll be 
none o' them thar preacher-men a- 
sneakin' 'round hyer. I've got along 
good an' well fer more'n seventy year 
'thouten 'em, an' I reckon hit'll be 
seventy more 'fore I need 'em." 

"I know ye've alius been down on 
the lamin', Jeems, an' hit does 'pear 
like we-all gits along all right thouten 
it, but Israel's plumb sot on it, an' I 
lowed some o' the other chaps mought 
be wantin' — " 

"What ye puttin' in fer Israel fer?" 
demanded her husband. "Beggars* 
brats hain't got no need fer l^nin', 
nohow. I turned my own son oflF fer 
gittin' so upsot by that dum-foolish- 
ness that he wam't no 'count fer work- 

"Yes, but Rufe— " The woman 
stopped, frightened by the black look 
her husband gave her. 

"What's Rufe got ter do with it?" 
he demanded. "Ye kin tell that 
preachin' feller that ef him, or Rufe 
. either, sets foot near me, I'll shoot 'em 
both down, same as ef they was pole- 

Israel shrank back against the wall 
as if trying to squeeze himself out of 
sight. Jeems, however, gave him no 
further attention. He seemed to think 
he had delivered an ultimatum, and 
kicking off his heavy boots, soon 
tumbled into a bed in the comer, of the 

When his heavy snores gave evi- 
dence that he slept, Israel drew from 
beneath the table a little old hair-trunk 
which contained his few belongings — 
among them six old and battered 
books — and sat down in the firelight 
to gloat over his treasures. They were 

a "McGuffey's Fifth Reader," without 
a cover, a well-thtunbed copy of "Pil- 
grim's Progress," a paper-backed 
Ivanhoe," Wordsworth's poems, and 
two odd volumes of old-fashioned ser- 

"I 'low I has one of all they is, 
granny," he said, looking inquiringly 
into the dd woman's face. 

"I reckon you has, honey," she re- 
plied in a low tone. She ^anced un- 
easily at the bed, fearful of rousing 
her husband, whose well-known 
antipathy to "book - lamin' " had 
scarcely permitted the poor waif he 
sheltered to retain these precious relics 
of happier days. 

"How smart you be to know the 
letters an' the readin', tool" Euthasia 
went on in admiration. "I'd thmk 
you'd git mixed up with 'em an' 
couldn't tell one from t'other." 

"They was my mammy's, ye know," 
said the boy, his face brightening with 
a tender light. "After she died me 
an' pappy useter read 'em together. 
We brung 'em along in the wagon 
when we started over the mountains 
fer Kaintuck, an' when he tuck sick 
hyer in the settlemint an' died, I 
hadn't nothin' left me but her books." 

"Pore leetle chap! I'm feared 
sometimes ye has ter work too hard. 
Jeems means all right," in sudden re- 
membrance of loyalty to her lord, "he 
jest don't rec'kct as you ain't moun- 
tain bora an' cain't stan' what our 
boys kin." 

"Oh, I don't mind that, granny; 
I'm a heap tougher'n you think fer, 
an' I want ter work fer you. I ain't 
never forgot how you-all give me a 
home when pappy died. I jest natch- 
uUy couldn't 'a went off, ye see, an' 
left his grave up thar alone under the 
pine trees." 

Euthasia gently laid her rough 
hand on his arm as she rose and said : 

"Wal, ye better turn in now. Ef 
Jeems 'lows fer us ter shear all them 
sheep to-morrer we'll have ter git a 
powerful airly start." 

"Yes'm, I'll come purty quick," the 
boy replied, and she left him bending 
over his book, held close to the flick- 
ering glow of the backlog. 

Digitized by 




The morning sun had not yet peeped 
over the top of "Old Baldy" when 
Jeems Fellers issued from tfie cabin 
door, equipped for a long day's hunt. 

"Euthasy," he growled, as he 
stopped to lig^t his pipe, "you an' 
Israel git right along now. I don't 
want no lazin' 'round hyer. Them 
sheep's got ter be done time I gits 
back ter-night" 

Gun on shoulder, he struck off into 
the woods directly up the mountain 
side without a backward glance or 
otfier sign of farewdl. From long ex- 
perience Euthasia knew that her hus- 
band's will was law, so she wasted no 
time on her household duties, but be- 
gan as soon as possible on the work 
he had laid out for her. With the help 
of Israel only, who made up in manly 
desire what he lacked in physical 
strength, she caught, washed, and 
clipped the heavy wool from the pa- 
tient animals. It was tedious work, 
and strive as she would, noon found 
them with only four fleeces to show 
for their six hours' labor. They 
stopped then for a short rest and a 
hasty mouthful of food. As they sat 
wearily beside the table in the cabin, 
a shadow fell a-thwart the doorway 
and a cheery young voice called out: 

"Howdy, Euthasyl Hello, Israel! 
How you'all gittin' along?" 

Israel's face fairly beamed as he 
looked up at the girl standing before 
them. And indeed she made a pretty 
picture with her fresh, clear complex- 
ion, so unlike that of most mountain 
girls, and her bright hair, framed by 
die blue sunbonnet which had slipped 
back and was suspended from her 
neck by the strings. 

"Come in an' have a bite, Loviny," 
Euthasia said hospitably. 

"I'm T)leeged ter ye, but I reckon I 
cain't stop ter-day. We-uns has done 
had our snack. I — I come over ter 
see ef Israel 'ud help me tote some 
books down the Ridge. I heered as 
how Jeems was off a-huntin* an' I 
knowed you wouldn't keer." 

Israel lodced eagerly at Euthasia. 

"Oh, kin I?" Then his face fell. 
"No, I don't reckon as I kin, Loviny. 
Wf ain't throu^ with the sheep yit, 

an' we're 'bleeged ter finish 'fort 

Before the girl could reply, Eutha- 
sia stood up and said with decision: 

"You go along o* Loviny. I'm good 
an' rested now an' kin work faster'n 
you an' me together did this momin'. 
I reckon I won't be much behind. 
What books be they, Loviny?" 

"Hit's a whole box full as is sent 
out a-travelin' by them women's clubs 
in the valley. Rufe done got 'em lent 
ter me, knowin' how I liked readin' 
when I was over ter Glen Mary ter 
school. He cain't fotch 'em hisself, 
ye know," the soft color stole into her 
face and she cast a timid glance at the 
old woman, who nodded grimly, "but 
he 'lowed he'd carry 'em ter the top 
o' the Divide ef me an' Israel could 
git 'cm the rest o' the way down." 

"Oh!" Israel jumped up excitedly. 
"Do you reckon I mought take the 
steer? I'd be awful keerful o' the 
critter. Hit wouldn't take us long 
that-a-way ter snake 'em down on the 
lizard, an' then I'd git back in time ter 
he'p you a heap." 

"Wa-al," Euthasia pwidercd. "I 
reckon 'twouldn't hurt none. Jeems 
needn't never know we done it" 

It was a happy pair who, a half 
hour later, walked along the steep and 
rocky road leading to the top of the 
ridge which divided their remote set- 
tlement from the populous valley on 
the other side. The kindness and af- 
fectionate sympathy of the young girl 
was the brightest spot in Israel's for- 
lorn life. Together they read and dis- 
cussed in their simple way the few 
books which fell into their hands. 
They sat for long hours, when the boy 
could steal away from his heavy tasks, 
beside his father's lonely grave on the 
hillside, and there, overcoming his 
habitual reticence, he pour€;d into the 
listening ears of his one friend the 
aspirations which were beginning to 
bud in his sensitive soul. Happy just 
to be with her, he trudged along be- 
side her this afternoon, not noticing 
that her replies to his eager chatter 
grew more and more brief and absent. 
The girl's heart beat high in anticipa- 
tion of an interview with Rufus, the 

Digitized by 




sweetheart whom the tyrannous inter- 
dict of his father forbade to return, 
even for tfie shortest visit to his own 

They found the stalwart fellow 
waiting for them at the top of the 
Divide, and the box of books was soon 
transferred to the lizard from the 
wagon which Rufus had managed to 
procure for the enterprise. 

"Are you glad to get 'em, Loviny?" 
he asked, taking her hands in his and 
looking tenderly down into the sweet 

"You knows that, Rufe," shyly 
withdrawing herself from his clasp, 
half frightened by a demonstration 
unusual in her people. "Me an' Is- 
rael's lottin' on a good time with *em. 
I wish't ye could ht thar ter share it," 
she added wistfully. 

"Well, maybe pap'll see differently 
some day and won't always think I'm 
a thief and a rascal for tryin' to do 
the things I like best. If he don't," 
he went on in a lower tone, "it won't 
be long before I'll be fixed so as to 
have you come to me." 

"Oh, pshaw, now, Rufe! Air ye 
shore ye hain't changed yer mind 
'bouten all that?" 

Israel's attention, fortunately for the 
lovers just then, was given entirely to 
the box on which he sat, trying to 
pierce the boards with anticipatory 

"They must be more'n one of a kind 
in thar," he thought, "fer shorely they 
cain't be all that many different kinds 
in the world!" 

Rufus drew his sweetheart down be- 
side him on the pine-needle carpeted 
couch of the woods, where, forgetful 
of the flight of time, they lost them- 
selves in the confidences and oath- 
binding of their kind. The sun was 
casting long shadows athwart the val- 
ley when at last Israel and Loviny, 
nmking what haste they could with 
the slow steer, reached Loviny's home 
with their load. For all his hurry, 
however, Israel failed to get back to 
the sheep lot in time to he of much 
servicer to Euthasia, and approaching 
night found them with several of their 
small flock still unshorn. 

"Never mind, sonny," Euthasia 
said kindly when they were at last 
compelled to desist, "we'll jest finish 
in the momin'. We'll tell Jeems we 
done the best we could. Ef he's had 
a good hunt he won't be mad." 

As they neared their cabin they saw 
Loviny running towards them with 
flushed cheeks and happy eyes. 

"Oh, Israel!" she cried, "them 
books is jest the finest ever! An' I 
want ye should see what else come in 
the box with 'em." She held out a 
half dozen prints of well-known pict- 
ures, among them a Madonna by 
Murillo, and a copy of Millet's An- 

Israel was as much excited as the 
girl. Never before in his short life 
had he seen anything so beautiful. 
His experience of pictures was limited 
to an occasional frontispiece in one of 
his few books, or a cheap cut in the 
newspapers which found their infre- 
quent way into the secluded valley. 
He seized eagerly upon the Madonna. 
The sweet, tender, mother-love beam- 
ing down upon the infant clasped in 
her arms, struck a chord of sad memo- 
ries which thrilled his lonely heart 
with exquisite pain. Euthasia reached 
for the Angelus. 

"Let me see that air," she pleaded, 
holding it close to her eyes in tiie light 
of the fire she had kindled in the wide 
chimney. "Hit looks like me an' 
Jeems out a-plantin' in the spring. 
Hit's the fust time I ever knowed a 
person could pray while they's a-work- 
in'. Say, Loviny, ye've got so many 
o' them thar, would ye mind ef I kep' 
this'n fer a spell ? I'll pin hit ag'in the 
wall an' hit shain't come ter any hurt." 

Israel looked up hungrily, holding 
his Madonna close to him, but said 

"Why, course I don't keer! Ye're 
welcome ter the whole lot of 'em ef 
ye want 'em. Israel seems ter like 
his'n purty well, too." 

"No, ye cain't git shet of 'em that-a- 
way!" A faint smile flickered across 
Euthasia's face. "But ef ye don't 
really mind me an' Israel a keepin' jest 
them two, that's all we've got a right 
ter ast." 

Digitized by 




After Loviny had gone they stood 
locking at the pictures together, the 
toil-worn hand of the grizzled old 
woman resting on the shoulder of the 
fair-haired boy. 

"Ye 'lowed ye'd guzzle me 'bout the 
steer, did ye?" Startled, they turned 
to face the angry Jeems, who had come 
unheard into the cabin and was now 
standing behind them. "Consam ye 
both I" he snarled, "who said ye could 
use the critter? Crapshaw telled me 
as I come by the blacksmith shop 'at 
he seen that brat an' Loviny Williams 
a-goin' by with 'im. What was ye 
doin' with 'im, I wanter know ?" 

Israel cowered, but the woman faced 
the man in defense of the boy. 

"I give him lief, Jeems Fellers!" 
she said shortly. "He'd worked all 
momin* — ^an' he's sech a leetle feller! 
— an* I 'lowed hit didn't hurt nothin* 
ter let 'im go off fer awhile ter help 
Loviny tote some books — " 

"Books! Who's been a-givin' 
Loviny books?' They hain't gone 
clear over the Ridge arter books, has 
they?" His stem eyes fixed her, 

"Wa-al— no," she hesitated, "they 
jest went as fur as the top o' the 

"Who fotched *em to the Divide?" 

"Wal, ef ye must know, Rufe!" 
She put her hands on her hips and re- 
garded him defiantly. "He got a pas- 
sel o' them travelin' books from some 
women in town — " 

The man's square jaw set with an 
angry snap. "I've done told ye that 
ef Rufe comes foolin' 'round hyer I'll 
kill 'im. An* ye better tell that crazy 
gal o' his'n that ef I hear o' any more 
o' her goin's on with 'im, she'll have 
ter leave the Settlemint! As fer Is- 

Too excited to be observant, he saw 
nothing of the beckoning hand at the 
door, nor noted that his wife slipped 
out into the dusk. 

"Rufe's hurt," said the neighbor 
who stood outside. She pushed him 
away from the house. 

"Don't let his pappy hear! Whar 
is he ? Jeems is in one o' his rages — 

he ain't 'countable — oh, I'm plum 
skeered !" 

"This is the nearest place, an* 
Crapshaw 'lowed he'd fotch him hyer 
in his wagon ef I'd come ahead an' 
warn you-all. We found 'im— " 

"Rufe dassent be brung hyer ter- 
night, I tell ye ! We got ter head that 
wagon off ! Jeems 'ud nigh about kill 
'im ef he kotched him hyer!" Their 
hurrying forms were swallowed up in 
the darkness. 

Inside the cabin the eyes of the un- 
suspecting tyrant turned toward Is- 
rael, who in shrinking back against the 
wall, called his attention to the pict- 
ures pinned to the log above his head. 
He reached up and jerked them from 
their fastenings. The boy clutched 
his arm and clung to it tenaciously. 

"Oh, d(m't tear hit! Hit looks like 
my mammy. She useter hold me like 
that an' sing 'Beulah Land.' " 

With an oath, the infuriated man 
tried to fling the boy from him, but 
he held tight, reaching up with his 
free hand to rescue his prize. Holding 
it high above Israel's head to keep it 
from him, Jeems brought it to the 
level of his own vision. His gaze 
was arrested by the sweet woman- 
face, and something, he knew not 
what, in the pose and expression, 
awakened a long forgotten memory. 
So had looked his Mary, the first love 
of his boyhood, the wife of his youth ; 
just so had she held in her arms her 
boy, their son Rufus, and sung to him 
— what was it Israel had said? — ^yes, 
"Beulah Land." His heart was 
gripped with pain and the chords in 
his throat ached with the intensity of 
his feeling. His Mary ! Not for years 
had the ghost of his old love risen be- 
fore him. Not in the long course of 
the sin-hardened years since Mary 
died — so young! — and left him alone 
with their baby boy, the strong, bright 
little chap whom he had driven from 
home with imprecations because he 
could not bend him to his will, had the 
depths of his nature been so stirred 
by the emotion which now welled up 
within him like a tidal wave. Across 
his perturbed thought flitted the vis- 
ion of Euthasia, the unloved woman, 

Digitized by 




whom he had married and brought to 
the cabin to care for the little Rufus. 
She had borne him sons and daugh- 
ters, too, but they were to him only so 
many "hands" to help run the small 
farm, until one by one they had left 
him in rebellion. Where was his boy 
to-night? Had he come to hate his 
old daddy for all his harshness to 
him? His eyes fell on Israel, and the 
look of wonder on the boy's face 
abashed him. He would have spoken, 
but the clutch in his throat prevented. 
Lowering his arm, he handed the pict- 
ures to the frightened child and went 
swiftly out of the cabin. For an hour 
he walked fiercely up and down the 
road, driven by the lash of a late re- 
pentance he could not quell. At last, 
exhausted, he threw himself under the 
great white oak tree in the dooryard, 
and leaning back against its ancient 
trunk, stared fixedly at the solemn 
stars above him. In some mysterious 
manner their soft rays seemed to per- 
meate his troubled soul, dissolving as 
in an alembic, the harshness which had 
been incrusting it through the long 
years. The man beneath the oak felt 
new sight given him — clearer, truer 
vision. Unreasoning, he lay in the 
hollow of a great crisis, rocked upon 
it, moulded, changed and softened by 
influences he could not have named. 
The possibilities of his youth, of 
Mary's lover, seemed to come back 
and whisper to him that it was not yet 
too late to live again as he had lived 
in that happier time. 

The wagon, crawling along the 
road, creaked closer and closer, until 
its groaning could not fail to pierce 

even his dulled consciousness. He 
rose suddenly, and the wagon stopped. 
To his astonishment he beheld the tall 
form of his wife stalking beside it. 

"Euthasia! What in thunder?—" 

Shaken with fear, the woman leaned 
against the wheel. 

"Hit's Rufe, Jeems," she stam- 
mered. "He was throwed outen his 
wagon t'other side the Divide, an' he's 
awful bad hurt. They was fotchin' 
him hyer 'fore I knowed it, so I went 
to meet 'em, an' we're carryin' him ter 

"Loviny nothin' ! He's my boy an' 
he comes hyer!" Jeems lifted in his 
own strong arms the son upon whose 
face he had for years refused to look, 
and carried him tenderly into the 

When the young man lay in his own 
home, too weak and weary to question 
the why of his welcome, his father 
said to Euthasia in a kinder tone than 
she had ever heard him use: 

"Euthasy, I hain't alius used ye jest 
right, an' I reckon I hadn't no call 
ter drive Rufe off on account o' the 
lamin'. He kin stay hyer, an' ye kin 
tell Loviny that ef she's still petted on 
him she kin wed him 's soon 's he gits 
well. I hain't got nothin' ter say agin 
it no more. As fer the leetle chap," 
he pointed to Israel, who, awakened 
by the confusion, was sitting up in 
bed, clasping his Madonna to his 
bosom and staring about him with 
blinking eyes, "we'll git up a school 
fer him an' let Rufe teach it ef he 
wants ter. I 'low I'm able ter do fer 
'em both — fer Mary's sake," he added 
under his breath. 

Digitized by 



By Maurice Smiley 

AM not going to ar- 
Egue whether I did 
|right or wrong from a 
professional point of 
/iew. There are few 
^questions which have- 
n't two sides to them. 
Possibly this, case had 
only one, or at the best 
was lop-sided, by rea- 
son of the fact that 
professional prudence would have 
suggested that I take a course oppo- 
site to that which I did take. 

As I said in the beginning, I am not 
going to argue the point To be frank 
with you, a fello.w in my fix hasn't 
room for argument. At the present 
writing I am not living in a flat. It's 
worse than even that, and that is bad 
enough, goodness knows. 

I am sitting in a cosy little apart- 
ment which is provided free of charge 
by the state, and my cell mate is snor- 
ing peacefully in his bunk. Never 
mind whether it's Sing-Sing or Joliet. 
Enough that I feel in a reminiscent 
mood and want to tell you of a little 
incident which occurred a year or so 
ago, and which interested me chiefly 
b^use the lights and shadows were 
so strongly contrasted. It was funny 
and a bit tragic at the same time. 

Never mind how I got started on 
my career of appropriating other peo- 
ple's property. Thank goodness I am 
not a trust magnate nor a high insur- 
ance official. I can get down on my 
marrow bone^ at night and say my lit- 
tie "now-I-lay-me-downs" with a 
clear conscience on that score. They 
can't bring any such charges as that 
against me. 

It may sound like a story, but I had 
a wife and child once, bade there in 
the old days. No, booze didn't break 

up the little home. There wasn't any 
man in the case — ^nothing of that. I 
guess there was a yellow streak in me 
somewhere. I am not going to blame 
whisky for what I did with my eyes 
wide open. I just threw away all the 
chances to be good and honest and 
hold my head up like other men. I 
just naturally brdce her heart, but I 
am thankful that she found a man 
who appreciated her as she ought to 
have been af^reciated, and vrtio is 
making a good father to the little one. 
I saw him the other day. He came 
through on a tour of inspection. He 
is the prosecuting attorney who put 
me here, but I don't bear him any ill 

Seems to me I am a long time get- 
ting down to my reminiscence. But 
I can't help it. A fellow will ramble 
a bit when he has so many things to 
think about. 

Well, I lost all track of my former 
wife and little one. You see, my resi- 
dence was changed several times, for 
officious sheriffs from other places 
kept sending in their cards from time 
to time. But at last I could look them 
all in the face — until the next time. I 
got back to where I had once lived, 
and after looking over the ground 
with a professional eye, I picked out 
a certain "crib" which looked promis- 
ing. It had the hall-marks of desira- 
bility, and one evening shortly after 
midnight I let myself in and soon got 
the lay of the land. 

I found out where the silver was, 
and then I turned my attention to the 
proprietors of the establishment. By 
cautious inquiries I found that they 
were sweetly slumbering in their 
apartment on the second floor. With 
a practised hand I injected a sufficient 
quantity of chloroform into the at- 

Digitized by 




mosphere to insure their sleeping 
soundly until at least 6 o'clodc that 

Then I made my way down stairs 
and for half an hour or so I got busy 
with the silver and other portables 
of value, not forgetting a well stocked 
sideboard and refrigerator. 

I was just about to bid the prem- 
ises a reluctant adieu when I was 
startled by a sound that puzzled me at 
first. Then something seemed to 
come before my eyes and into my 
throat, and for an instant I was good 
and honest, as well as poor, and al- 
most involuntarily I was about to call 
my wife and tell her— well, never 
mind what I was going to tell her. 
That's a little bit private. All that 
you need to know is that the sound I 
had heard was that of a child cough- 
ing and struggling and gasping and 
chdcing in that awful way a little 
child has when it is seized with a 
sudden and bad attack of croup. I 
had heard that sound before — ^back 
there in the old days. 

That was the psychological moment 
in the job. I could have slipped quiet- 
ly out of the house and made my get- 
away. Professional prudence bade me 
do it and lose no time about it. 

Leave the child to its fate? Oh, no, 
I never had any thought of that. I 
am not quite so hardened— even yet. 
There were servants back in the quar- 
ters which were in the rear of the 
house. I could have given an alarm 
and got away all right. They would 
have discovered that a burglary had 
been committed and that their master 
and mistress had been drugged. But 
I should have been well away, and I 
had little doubt the women folks could 
have taken care of the child better 
than I could. I had not calculated on 
a child disarranging my plans. But 
I have always been glad of it. 

The parents were in a stupor from 
which tfiey would not rouse for some 
hours. They were the natural and 
best nurses. But with them out of the 
question and the servants eliminated 
by something that came into my heart 
— I don't know what it was, some lit- 
tle flutter of the wings of my good 

angel; some turning around and &c- 
ing the old honest time ; some flaming 
up of the finer spark that was flick- 
ering, flaring up and then sadly 
dying on the altars of my soul — some- 
thing that the preachers might have 
explained, decided me to play the 
nurse myself. 

By great good fortune I found in 
the kitchen in a hurried search the 
materials for some plain home reme- 
dies and with a feeling for which 
burglars very rarely have any use I 
mounted the stairs to the nursery. I 
opened the door, and then, as the vi- 
sion of a golden-haired little one met 
my eyes, I started back with a cry. 

I told you before that I had lost all 
track of my former wife and child, 
didn't I? 

No this was not the child, nor was 
the drugged woman in the other room 
my former wife. I am not telling 
a magazine story, where you can fix 
things up to suit yourself, so they will 
pretty or weepy as the case may be. 
This is a reminiscence and to be of any 
value it must be truthful. 

The child didn't even lock like 
mine, though it was about my little 
one's age. I was simply startled to 
see that she was in a frightfully bad 
way, even though I had not been more 
than two or three minutes making my 
preparations. The delay of five min- 
utes would have cost the baby her life. 
She might have been three years old, 
but all little children are babies to me 
since — 

Without going into details I will 
say that the next ten minutes were the 
busiest I ever put in in all my life; 
and in fifteen minutes from the time I 
came into the room the little one was 
resting quite easily, her golden head 
against my shoulder and one chubby 
hand fast in mine. I knew it would be 
dangerous to leave her for an hour or 
so, and I thought I was pretty safe 
from interruption. 

But I had reckoned without my host 
— supposing I could properly call my- 
self the gfuest of the man of the house. 

Maybe he hadn't breathed as much 
of the chloroform as his wife, or his 
constitution had shaken it off more 

Digitized by 




easily, and he had been roused by the 
noise I had made. At any rate, he 
had jumped out of bed, and there he 
was standing in the door of the nur- 
sery, wild-eyed, horrified, fighting des- 
perately to shake oflf the remaining ef- 
fects of the chloroform, not knowing 
what it all meant, but believing that 
some terrible fate menaced his child. 
With an inarticulate cry, he lurched 
toward me in a blind, instinctive ef- 
fort to save her. The poor chap 
thou^t I was trying to kidnap her. 

I hated to do it, but I had to pro- 
tect myself. I dropped the baby gen- 
tly on the bed, and then I was on the 
father like a flash. But I wasn't rough 
with him. He put up a great fight 
for a man in his condition. Once he 
broke away from me and running into 
the hall he set off some sort of a bur- 
glar alarm which I suppose connected 
with the police station just around the 

I had to be a little rough after that, 
and in two minutes I had him trussed 
up as securely as a Thanksgiving tur- 
key. I was just slipping a gag into 
his mouth when I heard the police 
running up the street. 

That made the situation desperate. 
I had less than four minutes to get 
out an unfamiliar back way, probably 
guarded by that time. To go out the 
front way in my present get-up was 
to run into the arms of the main body. 

I usually go provided for emergen- 
cies. I had a false beard in my pock- 
et, and the long black beard worn by 
my host gave me an idea. 

"Very sorry, I am sure," I whis- 
pered hurriedly in his ear, "but I must 
relieve you of those whiskers." 

I dashed into the next room for his 
razor, and I think I gave him the rec- 
ord shave of his life. I didn't give 
him any bay mm or any of the trim- 

ming, and I didn't gossip very much 
with him. It couldn't have been more 
than two minutes before all that was 
left of his beautiful black beard was a 
ragged stubble that made him locdc 
tougher than I had ever done in all my 
life. He had his trousers on, so I 
gave him my coat to make him more 
presentable, replenishing my own 
wardrobe from the hall rack. 

I wasn't much disturbed when I re- 
flected that my false whiskers were a 
glossy brown. My ma^ I threw over 
his face and cnunmed my cap on his 
head, snatching a hat from the hall 

All this takes a long time in the tell- 
ing, but things happened rapidly in 
reality, and when the police first thun- 
dered on the door I was ready for 
them. I ran down the stairs and agi- 
tatedly welcomed them. 

"He's upstairs," I gasped, breath- 
ing hard. "I've got him all right !" 

I accompanied the officers to the 
second floor and pointing to the des- 
perate villain in the comer I exclaimed 
exultingly : 

"I had a hard fight, officers, but I 
think I did a pretty good job. But 
I must run out to the dmg store while 
you are getting him ready to take to 
the station. My little girl is quite 
sick." ^ 

"You sure did a good job," chuck- 
led the officer in command. "He's a 
tough looking customer, and no mis- 

I hastily left them hustling my host 
about, and running into the dining 
room I gathered up my pile, and that 
is the last I ever saw of the man at 
104 Avenue A. 

But I have always been glad that I 
saved the kid. 

In now for that job, after all? No, 
that's another story. 

Digitized by 



By G. E. Johnson 

"Let me write the songs of a people — 
I cafe not who writes their laws." 

GOD inspires His singers in 
various ways — each sings aft- 
er his own fashion ; there are 
those who are attuned to high things 
and whose splendid imaginations are 
above the comprehension of the 
masses; some whose lutes respond 
only to the touch of fame or gold, 
ambition or selfishness; some who 
commune with nature and forget na- 
ture's God and that poor suffering hu- 
manity which they turn away like an- 
gels from their door. All these have 
their admirers, those who but faintly 
comprehend them, and who, fired by 
immortal longings, follow after them 
in the pursuit of the unattainable. 

And then again God has fashioned, 
some singers whose music wells hot 
from the heart, whose ready sympa- 
thies bring them close to the people, 
whose inspiration is the sigh of love, 
the tear of pity, the echo of prayer, 
the simple, tender things of every-day 
life and every-day men and women. 
They care little for money, fame or 
ambition; they sing even as they 
breathe, and every breath is music. 
Their hearts are like an aeolian harp, 
which echoes back the sigh of every 
passing breeze. They make the suf- 
fering, the joy, the hopes, the dreams 
of others their own, and so they pass 
along the ways of every day, scatter- 
ing songs as they go like roses from 
the bending boughs of spring. 

These are God's best and truest sing- 
ers, and of these Will S. Hays was 
one. Born on the banks of the beau- 
tiful Ohio River seventy years ago 

(July 19, 1837), he absorbed rcwnance 
and poetry and sentiment, to which his 
wonderful versatility early gave ex- 
pression. He had a rare faculty for 
writing verse, and he had the still rarer 
gift of being able to fit melody to his 
verses. While in his teens he wrote 
one song, "Evangeline," that would 
have brought fame and fortune to any 
man who cared for these things. Sim- 
ple, honest, great-hearted, with a love 
for people and nature, Will Hays cared 
naught for glory or pelf. He loved to 
write, and he cared not what became 
of his work after he had written it. 

In his life. Will Hays wrote more 
than three hundred songs that were 
published, and many of these became 
popular. Probably his most famous 
song was '*Mollie Darling," two mil- 
lion copies of this being sold. Preced- 
ing and during the Civil War, he wrote 
many songs that were popular in the 
Southland. "My Southern Sunny 
Home" was written in New Orleans, 
while the author was a prisoner of war. 
"The Wandering Refugee," '*Write 
Me a Letter from Home," "Old- 
fashioned Roses Are Sweetest," "Nora 
O'Neal," "Shamus O'Brien," were all 
written about the time of the war, or 
just after. "Signal Bells at Sea" was 
Hays' last popular song, published 
about ten years ago. Although Dan 
Emmett is the reputed author of "Dix- 
ie," historical facts prove that Will 
Hays wrote the first "Dixie" songs — 
and the one that became the battle 
hymn of the South — two or three 
years before Emmett's words were 
written or published. 

Will Hays was always interested in 

Digitized by 




the river, and, like Mark Twain, he 
served an apprenticeship as a pilot, but, 
unlike Oemens, he graduated and for 
some years was a pilot on the Ohio 
and Mississippi rivers. He later be- 
came a captain, and spent many years 
on the big passenger steamers. He 
loved the river, and he could never for- 
get the past greatness of river inter- 
ests, always lamenting the departed 
glory with real grief. 

In 1858 he began writing river news 
for Louisville papers, and he continued 
this work until the end. When he re- 
tired from the water, he became river 
editor for the Courier- Journal, and 
he made of his department the most 
interesting as well as the most novel 
published by any paper. He hated 
shams and fads, and he interspersed 
his river news with philosophy and 


verse ridiculing these things. The 
philosophy of "Old Ike" attracted 
much attention, as did the antics of 
"O'Grady's Goat." 

About three years ago, Will Hays 
suffered a stroke of paralysis. A sec- 
ond stroke came a few months later, 
and the third early in July last. For 
a few days he lingered, then, on July 
23, four days after his seventieth birth- 
day, his gentle soul passed upward. No 
more fitting tribute could be paid him 
than to quote one of his own poems, 
written on the death of an old friend, 
Captain James Howard: 

"He has launched his last boat and got in 
it alone. 
And sailed to that beautiful clime, 
Wihere angels are waiting to welcome him 
On the banks of the river of Time. 
He will land by himself in Eternity's port, 
Then put the boat out on the 
And quietly walk through the 
beautiful gates. 
And never come back any 
We trust that some angel will 
show him the way 
That leads to the great 
throne of Grace, 
Where God in his mercy will 
give him a seat, 
And smile on his time- 
wrinkled face. 
If ever a man was true, hon- 
est and kind, 
We think it was old 'Uncle 
And if God has a home and a 
crown for good men, 
He will certainly give them 
to him." 

Will Hays' lyric gift be- 
came most widely known 
through the charm of his 
song, "MoUie Darling." 
This appeared about 1870. 
More than two million cop- 
ies have been sold, and there 
is still an occasional demand 
for it. Colonel Hays told 
the story of this song re- 
cently. He was stopping at 
the Monongahela House in 
Pittsburg, and had just re- 
tired. Outside his room in 
the dark hall he heard whis- 
pering, and now and then 

Digitized by 




could distinguish a word or two. 
Then a little louder came a ques- 
tion in a rich Irish voice, "Do you 
love me, Mollie, darling?" There 
was no verbal response, but the un- 
mistakable smack of a kiss came 
through the door, then a scurrying of 
feet. Next morning when Colonel 
Hays was dressing he found himself 
humming a line, "Do you love me, 
Mollie, darling?" unconsciously fitting 
it to music. Out in the hall on the 
way down to breakfast, he met a rosy- 
dieeked, blue-eyed Irish lass, who 
smiled at him. He asked her name, 
and she gave it as Mollie. After 
breakfast he returned to his room, and 
in half an hour went to the parlor and 
played and sang the song just as it is 
printed to-day : 

"Won't you tell me, Mollie darling, 
That you love none else but me? 
For I love you, Mollie, darling. 
You are all the world to me. 


'*Mollie, fairest, sweetest, dearest. 
Look up, darling, tell me this: 
Do you love me, Mollie, darling? 
Let your answer be a kiss." 

Hays' first successful popular song 
was the world-wide known "Evangel- 
ine," and the story of its inspiration is 
a pretty one. He was visiting at the 
residence of Robert D. Mallory, the 
famous secession Congressman from 
Kentucky, who lived in Oldham Coun- 
ty, about thirty-five miles from Louis- 
ville. There was a happy party of 
young guests assembled, and real Ken- 
tucky hospitality flowed. One night the 
young people went to a ball at a neigh- 
boring house, upon the wall of which 
young Hays saw, for the first time, a 
steel engraving of Longfellow's 
mournful heroine, sitting with clasped 
hands gazing out over the sea. That 
picture is now in everybody's eye. It 
took possession of the young composer 
on that night. When the young cou- 
ples were walking home over the 
moonlit road he was humming the air 
and the words of the first verse : 

"Sweet Evangeline, my lost Evangeline, 
We have lived and loved each other fond 
and true; 

Ever true to thee, tho' far away I've been« 
My heart has ever dwelt with you. 

But O, those happy days will ne'er return. 
Those happy days that we have teen. 

For I am left to weep alone, 
My sweet Evangeline." 

The girls teased him to sing it and 
teach it to them, and while strolling 
along they came to a heap of charred 
embers, where some slaves had been 
roasting some ears of com. A new 
white plank fence ran along one side 
of the road, and upon the planks the 
young composer wrote the words and 
music with charred sticks, and the 
group marched up and down before 
the impromptu music-stand singing the 
verse. Next day Hays polished the 
song, added a chorus and an additional 
verse. Up to that time no one had 
much of an opinion of Hays' song. 
He kept the manuscript of "Evangd- 
ine" for some time, after having it de- 
clined with thanks by several publish- 
ers. Finally, one night in Qeveland, 
he concluded to go on in the first part 
of SkiflF & Gaylord's minstrels. He 
had a beautiful voice, and for experi- 
ment determined to sing "Evangeline." 
It made a hit and was then published. 
Over a million copies of the song were 
sold before its popularity began to 

That Will S. Hays wrote the first 
"Dixie" song, there is no doubt. Dan- 
iel Decatur Emmett received credit for 
the song and for the music as well. 
Neither Hays nor Emmett really wrote 
the music. Shortly before his death, 
Will Hays told the writer the story 
of "Dixie," and it was verified by his- 
torical facts. Colonel Hays said: 

"I was clerking in the music store 
of D. P. Faulds in Louisville in 1857, 
when one day Mr. Faulds received a 
sheet of music from somewhere in the 
South. It bore a simple title, pen 
written, 'From Dixie.' Charles Ward, 
also a clerk in the store, took the mu- 
sic and ran over it on a piano. Mr. 
Faulds liked the swing of it, and he 
remarked that he thou^t it would go 
if words could be fitted. He asked me 
if I could write the verses, and I stood 
up and wrote on the end of the piano 
on a piece of ordinary wrapping paper. 

Digitized by 




as Charlie Ward played the music." 
This was the first "Dixie" song. 

Colonel Hays could not remember 
all the words, but he repeated a few 
lines of the original. They were these : 

"Dixie Ian* am de Ian' ob cotton, 
Ciimamon seed an' sandy bottom, 

Look away, look away, 
Look away down South in Dixie/' 

The chorus ran thus : 

"I wish I was in Dixie, hi ho, hi ho. 
In Dixie Ian' I'll take my stan' 

To lib an' die in Dixie. 
Hi ho, hi ho, I'll lib an' die in Dixie. 
Hi ho, hi ho, I'll lib an' die in Dixie." 

There was a line in the song refer- 
ring to "vinegar shoes and paper 
stockings," in addition to the "cinna- 
mon seed and sandy bottom" line. 
Colonel Hays explained these rather 
enigmatical lines with the statement 
that at the Saturday evening frolics of 
the slaves, when they wore shoes, the 
cinnamon seed falling in the sand, 
and the combination getting in the 
shoes, would harden them, and the ne- 
groes used vinegar instead of oil to 
soften them. They placed paper in 
the soles of the shoes, not wearing 
stockings or socks at all. This is his- 
torically correct. 

As stated, this was in 1857, before 
the war. Early in 1861, after the war 
began, Hays revised the song, and 
made of it the hymn of the Confed- 
eracy, and it was this new "Dixie" that 
really swept the South. The Buckner 
Guards, a Confederate company or- 
ganized in Louisville, was leaving for 
the South. Charles Ward, a friend of 
Will Hays, was in the Guards, and he 
organized a glee club. Hays dedi- 
cated his new "Dixie" to this club. 
The words, as near as Colonel Hays 
could recall, were like this : 

"Wc gwine down to de Ian' ob cotton. 
Cinnamon seed an' sandy bottom, 

Away, away, we gwine down to Dixie. 
We gwine to take our guns along. 
We gwine to fight an' sing dis song. 
Away down South in Dixie." 

The words of the original song, and 
the revised one, differ entirely from 
the "Dixie" sung to-day, and credited 

to Dan Emmett- Emmett's song was 
written in i860, and published by Wm. 
A. Pond & Co., New York. The first 
heard of this song in the South was 
in 1861 or 1862, when Colonel Pond 
wrote Mr. D. P. Faulds and claimed 
that he had infringed on Pond's copy- 
righted "Dixie." Mr. Faulds denied 
this, and stated the circumstances as 
detailed above. He also claimed that 
while Colonel Pond might be entitled 
to a copyright on the words of the 
song as written by Emmett, he cer- 
tainly was not entitled to a copyright 
on the music, and he proved conclu- 
sively that the music was common 
property in the South, that it was 
brought from England fifty or more 
years before, and had been sung by 
negroes on plantations and steamboats 
for years. The English song to the 
some music began : 

"If I was a soldier wouldn't I go," etc. 

Still later, the music was fitted to a 
parody, and the children of even this 
day sometimes sing it : 

"If I had a donkey as wouldn't go, 

I wouldn't beat him— Oh, no, no, no," etc. 

Will Hays wrote the original "Dix- 
ie" song in 1857, and revised it in 
1 861. This was the song that became 
famous throu^out the South. Dan 
Enmiett wrote the song that is sung 
to-day. Emmett's song lasted, not 
because the words were the best, but 
because the Hays song was a war 
song, and it died with the war. In all 
fairness, however, it can be said that 
the words of neither are good, and 
"Dixie" would have been forgotten 
long ago except for the stirring music. 

Daniel Decatur Emmett died in 
1904, at his home in Mount Vernon, 
Ohio, aged eighty years. 

There was always a touch of pathos 
in Hays' negro poems. His dialect 
was perfect, and he understood the 
negro character. "Dan'l an' His 
Dog" is an old darky's lament over 
the loss of his hound : 

"I hearn he was in Mem f us once, an* gwan 

'bout de street 
A-lookin' wid a mournful eye at ebery man 

he'd meet: 

Digitized by 




He'd allcrs drap his head an' tail w'eneber 

he would see 
How disappointed dat he wuz to find it wus- 

n't me." 

One Sunday morning Will Hays 
stood and watched the fashionable 
crowd entering a new and magnificent 
church in Louisville. "The Modern 
Meetin' House" came next morning. 
It tells of a plain old countryman who 
visited the city church : 

"The meetin' house was built of stone, the 

steeple p'inted high; 
The winders they wus painted all the col- 
ors of the sky; 
An* runnin' up that steeple wus a great 

long lightnin' rod — 
I kinder thought ther members lacked a 
confidence in God. 

**I went along *bout half-way down the vel- 
vet kyarpet 'lie; 
The men an' wimmen shet their gates, an' 
*ud kinder, sorter smile; 
I seed one open jest a bit, went in an' 

pulled it to — 
Wen some big feller sed to me, 'this 
here's a rented pew.' 

"I got out, tuk my hat an' coat, an' sot 

down hear the door; 
Expectin* for sum man ter say, 'this 'ere's 

a rented floor.' 

"The parson quit and then sot down — the 

orgin played agfin; 
I thought ef that was servin' God, the tunes 
they played wus thin; 
I've hearn the bands at circusses jest 

play the selfsame air; 
The parson, when the orgin quit, dis- 
missed *em all with pra'r." 

The poem entitled "There, Little 
Boy, Don't Cry," is expressive of Will 
Hays' sympathy for children, especial- 
ly for those of the under world. One 
cold, wintry day he saw a little news- 
boy on the street crying, with an arm- 
ful of papers. He bought a paper, and 
immediately his heart sympathy found 
expression and he gave to the world : 

"There, little boy, don't cry; 
I know that you must be cold, 
As you stand on the street 
In the snow and the sleet. 
With none of your papers sold; 
But I'll take one as I'm passing by — 
There, little boy, don't cry." 

Will Hays was always a poet of the 
heart. In all his work there was a ten- 
derness, a touch of gentleness, that ap- 

pealed. Especially was this the case 
in his poems to or about children. 

"When God gives earth a little child, 

He bids it go and roam; 
And when 'tis tired of the world, 
He calls the loved one home." 

Thus he wrote in a message of con- 
solation to a young mother, whose 
precious and only baby had been tak- 
en away. 

One of the best as well as the most 
touching of his poems, was on the 
death of Captain J. M. White, an old 
friend and companion on the river: 

"Say, pilot, I am going with them 

Up yonder through that gate; 
I'll not come back — you ring the bell 
And back her out — don't wait. 

"For I have made the trip of life, 
And found my landing place; 
I'll take my soul and anchor that 
Fast to the Throne of Grace." 

Several years ago Will Hays was se- 
riously ill in an infirmary in Louis- 
ville. Captain J. L. Lewis, of Pitts- 
burg, called on him, and told Will he 
feared he would not survive. Calling 
for a paper and pencil, Will wrote 
"Who Cares?" 

"When I am sick and sad at heart. 

Who cares ? 
And all the joys of life depart, 

WTio cares? 
When sorrow makes me bow my head 
I wish for rest in death's cold bed — 
How soon I'd be forgotten— dead — 

Who cares? 

I feel like I was all alone — 

Who cares? 
With all my hopes forever flown — 

Who cares? 
Oh how much gladder I would be 
If I the end of lif« could see — 
Know when the grave would swallow 

Who cares? 

No loving lips, no gentle voice — 

Who cares? 
To bid me live, hope or rejoice — 

Who cares? 
None to let true friendship dwell 
Within the heart, or love me well, 
Or care, were I in heaven or hell — 

Who cares? 

When lips like mine refuse to speak. 

Who cares? 
And teardrops trickle down my cheek- 

Who cares? 
And if I pray, for my soul's sake, 

Digitized by 



No comfort get, no pleasure take, and songs indicate this. In "Save 

Though my poor heart should bleed and Qne Bright Crown for Me" he shows 

^^^^"who cares? ^^e heart cry for the Divine Spirit : 

TM, ,.f^ . ^ u K "Oh! Thou Omnipotent, Most High! 

1 11 lift mme eyes to heaven above- g^j^j ^^ ^^^ ^^^^ j ^^^^^, 

U-. «;f5Ac fr.z2fr.^^V'u 1^^-^ Loo^ <iown with pitying eye on me; 

He pities me-for He is love- ^^ ^^^1 ^^ jy^^^ j ^ring. 

„. "^^ ^^^f' ,,,, With troubled heart and tearful eyes, 

His mercy and his love FU crave; j ^^ ^^ bended knees 

He will forgive, my soul he'll save, ^^ ^^ ^^3^ welcome strangers home 

I dont fear death, hell nor the grave- 5^^^ ^„^ y^^-^^ ^rown for me. 
Cioa cares. 


Will Hays was a real Christian. He ,,, , , j .1. o-u t r^ ^ 

^ J ^4. r xi. r J • Ye angels round the Throne of Grace, 

cared not for the forms and ceremonies ^^J i ^^^^ ^ome to thee, 

of reli^on, but in his heart there was !„ pity hear, oh ! hear my prayer, 

a deep reverence. His religious poems Oh, save a crown for me.** 


Her soul swings out and far away, 

Over unmeasured deeps h floats 
Thro' mists and changing clouds of gray 

To Arden's groves and castled moats. 

Beneath the trees whose sylvan shade 

O'erspreads the emerald carpet green. 
Not e'en the g^rove where Daphne strayed 

Portrayed a brighter, fairer scene. 

From pillared porch and marble hall 

Tall forms with stately tread emerge, 
And down the steps thin footstei)s fall 

With cadence solemn as a dirge. 

And on the terrace sloping down 

She sees them stand, and o'er the sea 
They beckon swiftly with their hands, 

But answering forms she cannot see. 

Whence do they come, whence do they go, 

These stately forms of noble mien ? 
Where are the gardens of her dreams ? 

Where is the sunlit tropic scene 

That fades away when rosy dawn. 

Climbs up the East with long bright rays 
And Phoebus' chariot brings the morn, 

Where soars the lark with lifting lays ? 

/. AT. Collins. 

Digitized by 




By Irene Bowser 

Illustrated with photographs by Lou A. Clark, Jr. 

DID you ever read in the wom- 
en's journals how to build a 
lovely little gable-roofed, 
bow-windowed, rustic cottage, set in 
a trim, laurel-fenced plot, for a few 
hundred dollars? Did you ever look 
at the pictured product and dream 
dreams rioting in artistic stained shin- 
gles and roses and honeysuckles ex- 
tracted from a modest purse? And 
did you ever take one of the freely- 
offered plans to a contractor and get 
his figures? Did you compare the 
two estimates? Then did you call 
the author of the rose-colored article 
a name that the sanctimonious editor 
of the helpful journal would never, 

never permit to appear in his steril- 
ized pages? You probably, in the 
bitterness of your disappointment, 
squandered your hoarded savings on 
open-air concerts and other cash-en- 
ticing devices which lure the flat-dwel- 
ler to attempt to forget he is spend- 
ing the summer in the heart of a 
sweltering city. Or else you allowed 
yourself to be drawn into the purchase 
of an artistic bungalow in a crowded 
suburb, whose inconveniences were 
balanced by the number of extra 
charges in the transfer papers. 

Oak Lodge is neither the realiza- 
tion of a paper dream, nor the ready- 
made substitute built by a suburb prO' 

Digitized by 




moter. In its original form it was a 
one-room log cabin in a forest clearing, 
which took the eye of a young man 
wand(,ring in search of summer pleas- 
ure and health. It is thirteen miles 
from the nearest railway station, and 
this fact alone would have made it 
undesirable property to any but an 
energetic, resourceful man. 

The cabin purchased and renovated, 
fences, well and outhouses repaired, 
given his time 
It of the house. 
1 porch, now a 
ived, the house 
by vacation, to 
jssing in every 
viduality of the 

and mantels are of plain boards, oth- 
ers are of burnt wood. The window- 
seat, so in keeping with the walls, the 
hearth and the rafters, is a really 
handsome piece, and, the boards being 
a present, represents no greater out- 
lay of actual cash than thirty cents' 
worth of weathered oak stain. An 
hour's vigorous rubbing not only gave 
the seat a fine polish, but gave the 
maker a fine set of healthy muscles as 

One of the ingenious devices of the 
clever-fingered, nimble-witted home- 
maker is a folding-bed arrangement, 
which wears by day a mask of cre- 
tonne curtain, depending from a plate 
rack or mantel. At night the with- 

1 the 


\ aid 
of friendly farmer neigh- 
bors, and the chimneys 
grew under the direction 
of one of these, and the la- 
bor of a . good-natured 
"country nigger," who 
worked out the wide fire- 
places, with their broad 
pillars and comfortable 
seats on either side for 
such fees as a "mess uv 
greens" and sundry arti- 
cles of clothing. The broad 
fireplaces, furnished with 
quaint, bowlegged andi- 
rons, obtained by barter with the old 
residents, are never filled with pots of 
wild flowers, nor hidden by screens, 
for in this wildwood spot sudden, 
cool showers are to be expected, and 
the nights are frequently cool enough 
to make a log fire of more than pic- 
turesque value. 

The interior walls have had the sur- 
face of the logs planed down to 
smoothness, and nothing done to hide 
the grain of the oak. The cracks 
have been filled with plaster, and the 
shelves, passe-partout-mounted pic- 
tures, curtains and draperies have 
been made and placed during the 
evening hours. Some of the shelves 


drawing of the mask reveals a set of 
bed-springs furnished with short, 
stout supports, hinged on. Mattress 
and pillows, made from the feathers 
of Oak Lodge chickens, and herb- 
scented sheets are drawn from a win- 
dow-seat, and the skimber-wooing 
couch is ready. There are several of 
these folding beds, one being a "dou- 
ble-decker," the upper one supported 
from the ceiling by stout hooks and 
chains. These make possible an al- 
most unlimited hospitality. The bed 
of state is an antique four-poster, res- 
urrected from a long retirement in 
company with the spinning wheel, in 
a farmer's "lumber room." It is still 

Digitized by 





furnished with "rope springs." For 
this bed the owner insisted on having 
a sweeping valance, as its staid digni- 
ty, he declared, could not brook the 
immodesty of a **rainy day skirt" 
effect. The quilts, pieced from 
innumerable tiny scraps of calico into 
"star," "crown," "pineapple" and 


"rising sun" designs, are the handi- 
work of the women on the neighbor- 
hood. During his winter absence at 
his work the young man never fails 
to remember his rural neighbors with 
mementoes which, while of small in- 
trinsic or separate value, relieve their 
long winters and brighten their hori- 
zon in ways unguessed. 
These sincere folks are al- 
ways eager, therefore, to 
contribute their "fixin's" 
to the furnishing of Oak 
Lodge. The curtains for 
the windows and beds, the 
table covers and other 
household linen, whose 
fashioning is beyond the 
ability of even the most ac- 
complished of men, are the 
work of appreciative fair 
guests, for Oak Lodge is 
a kind of "Friendship 
Club," and partakes in no 
respect of the nature of a 
LODGE recluse's dwelling. One 

Digitized by 



party after another succeeds to its they lie in wait to tempt the energetic 

hospitality, and long days are spent in into a drowsy moment in the ham- 

the woods and on the stream. Camp mock, and they smile in open invita- 

Hfe is the ofder of housekeeping, and tion from the top step, 
the open-air meals give an added fla- Oak Lodge is, as may be seen, 

vor to the fatness of the country. not a model to win a prize as **an ar- 

V'ines and hardy flowers have been tistic bungalow under $5,000;" nor is 

planted, and rustic seats and ham- it an old house remodeled, with the 

mock hooks put up. Perhaps the help of a hammer and a hairpin, into a 

most important article of supply is modern home. It is a practical ex- 

that of cushions. Pillows large and pression of the ability of one man to 

pillows small, pillows plain and fancy, make a comfortable home at a very 

all durable and all inviting, are heaped small cost, where the art of hospitali- 

and scattered throughout the house, ty can be as delightfully exercised, and 

They lurk in the shady corner seats, rest and recuperation as completely 

whose cedar boxes hold everything experienced as under the most elabo- 

from clothes to carpenter's tools ; rate architectural triumph. 


By William J. Burtscher 

Listen to no man's gossip — not even your own. 

A hypocrite is a man who talks two ways, but is only believed in one. 

When a fellow is naturally of no account he will show it in almost every 
step he makes. 

The rich always ride on the fastest trains, which seems to prove that riches 
have wings. 

Some men tell lies before they think. They are, therefore, greater liars 
than thinkers. 

Some evils are not as b^d as they are painted, but some are not painted 
as bad as they are. 

No man has any business trying to sail to the moon as long as there is 
room for him on earth. 

When a man makes a fool of himself it is almost a certainty that the job 
was half done before he began. 

The witnessing of a sunrise does not do a man any more good, really, than 
the getting up in time to witness it. 

Some men think it a good idea to keep themselves so busy earning dollars 
that they have no time to spend them. 

The pessimist is doing the world a great service — his gloomy view of life 
makes her appreciate the optimist more. 

The reason some people do not see the great men in their community is 
because they keep their eyes on themselves. 

Sc«ne people may be good when asleep, but if they are not good when 
awake they will dream bad dreams even then. 

You can keep your neighbor from bragging on himself so much by doing 
a little bragging on him yourself as you go along. 

When some men apply a little effort they do so well and feel so delighted 
that they allow themselves to believe that they are doing their best, when they 
are really only half trying. 

Digitized by 



Halls of the past! Their deep 

demotion %>roving^ 
Methinks I see adoiim your sa- 

ci*ed aii^les^ 
With silent tread^ the dark-robed 

figures moving. 

RaUs of the past^ luno glorimix 

are your walls ! 
And tho^ the gloom now holds 

them in its clasp^ 
Their story lives and all the world 



Digitized by 



Ilallis of tliepa^t^ a nation fair and grand 

Was cradled in your arms^ and there did learn 
To win sweet freedom foi' oiir Southern kvml. 

Oh^ sacred halls^ with datne-shaped towers ascendimj^ 

Hark^ how the music of your swaying bells 
Enchantment leitds^ with wondrous story blending. 

Oh^ ancient haUs^ whene'er 1 gaze upon you 

I seem to touch a further past^ and hear 
ThepriesUy voices chant of Him most true. 

The shadows faU^ the sun sinks from the hill^ 

And through the ruined casements whispers steals 
Faint ecJwes of devotions long since still. 


Digitized by 



By John Trotwood Moore 

It wuz up at the race at Recce's, 
An' my little Buster wuz th'ar, 

With cr sunflower patch in 
An' er turnip patch in his ha'r. 

Ten, an' er holy terrer — 
Great Scott, how he cu'd swa'r! 

Bolted ther track like ther devil — 
Away he went down ther lane, 
his Cl'a'red ther fence an' swept er road 
Through ther corn like er hurri- 
An' Buster? Sot th ar chawin' 'is cud. 
An' er holdin' on to ther rein. 

I lar'n't him to chaw ter- 
Befo' his colt-uppers 
cum — 
He'd chaw ther weed an' 
spit away 
When he didn't have 
nuthin but gum. 
His mammy died at his 
Ther ole cow pegged 
out, too; 
I don't give no milk 
So I raised 'im on moun- 
tain dew. 

Ride ? Ther one-gallus 
raskill — 
Why, he w'u'dden't stay 
oflF er boss ; 
An' so at ther race at 
They got me to fling him 
Ther pacin' stud of Side- 
wheel Jones, 
An' we had cr race that 
wuz *boss ! 

Er race that wuz boss — fur Buster 
He jes' sot tha'r an' won — 

But Side-wheel Jones' ole pacin' stud 
He acted ther son-of-a-gun, 

Fur he didn't stop when he won ther 
But bolted ther track in a run. 


Men mounted then like war-times, 
An' we follered es fast es we cu'd. 

''Hes kilt ther boyT I heard 'em say 
As ther mad horse plunged in ther 
wood — 

Kilt little Buster! An' then my h'art 
Jumped up in my throat an' stood. 

Digitized by 




His hat we foun' in ther com row ; 
At ther bridge his britches wuz 
(They had been mine, cut oS at ther 
To give him plenty of a'r). 
He'd busted his gallus an' shed 'is 
But they didn't shed him, I'll sw(fr! 

Blood on ther bridge at ther cornder, 
Hair on ther fence beyant; 

Ther road tore up like two ole bulls 
Had wrastled all night in a rant 

''Dead wha'r ther hoss run under that 
An' I lit on ther ground in a pant. 

I prayed like er cirkit rider — 
I know'd I had it to do — 

Fur hadn't I tort 'im 'is meanness 
An' raised 'im on mountain dew? 

Lord, I'll lead er dOFrunt life 

If you'll pull little Buster through! 

1 heard er laugh above me, 

An' I shet off quick es er wink, 
Fur tha'r on ther lim' sot Buster, 

An' whut did he say, you think? 
"Aw, Dad, close up that sermon; 

IV hut Buster 4teeds is er drink!" 

I reached fur that boy an' I yanked 
'im — 
(He cu'ddent er bin better 
The hickories grow'd all aroun* me 

An' I give 'im my level bes* — 
The good Lord saved his life that 
day ; 
You bet I saved ther rest! 

f Sentiment and Story 

jSifc -.<^ ^§^. 

By Robert L. Taylor 


Old Omar Khayyam had the truth 
by the tail and a down-hill pull when 
he said, "I myself am heaven and 
hell," for there is a perpetual warfare 
between the Angels of Light and the 
Angels of Darkness in every human 
breast from the cradle to the grave. 
Whoever clings to the pure and beau- 
tiful things of life has given the vic- 
tory to the Angels of Light and has 
opened the windows of heaven in his 
soul. Whoever delivers virtue into 
the black arms of lust and unchains 
the other evil passions within him has 
surrendered to the Angels of Dark- 
ness and is nothing more nor less 
than a walking devil and a breathing 
hell. There is a heaven in every brain 
when some pure and beautiful thought 

is born ; there is a heaven in every 
heart when the wing of an angel flut- 
ters in some rapturous dream; but 
the gate of heaven is closed and the 
angels take their flight when black- 
winged Evil enters in. 

The amount of good in every indi- 
vidual depends upon his standing ever 
on the alert to resist the bad. What 
is it that impels the wanton boy to 
slip in range of the tree-top and pierce 
the breast of the thrush with a bullet 
as it pours out its little dream in 
song? What pleasure is it to him 
to know that he has robbed the air 
of a melody? A thoughtless girl 
romps and frolics in the ecstasy of 
life's happy morning. What good 
comes to the scandal-monger who 

Digitized by 




tosses a rumor around, that bounces 
from tongue to tongue, and fills the 
quiver of society with poisoned ar- 
rows? Is there any happiness in 
breaking an innocent wing? Is there 
any joy in a wrecked hope and a shat 
tered dream? If there is, what is it 
but the same joy that thrills the mur- 
derer when he has struck the fatal 
blow, or the devil himself when he has 
blown out the light of a joyous life? 

4. 4. 4* 

A deft wizard of the bow sweeps the 
vibrant strings of his violin and turns 
it into a thing of passion. It laughs, 
and the world laughs with it; it 
weeps, and the world's in tears. In 
every note there is a smile and a sigh, 
in every strain there is a love-song. 
With every shifting of the bow a new 
dream is born ; with every tremulous 
touch of the nimble fingers a new flood 
of melodies flows out from under the 
enchanted bridge to ravish the enrap- 
tured senses. He is a dream-maker 
and Eden-builder of the world. But 
look how the gold- jaundiced world 
sneers at the dreamer, even while it 
drifts on the silver tide of his dream. 
Look hov/ sharp-faced commercialism 
starves him while it gathers sweets 
for the soul in the Eden he has builded. 
Where Mammon outweighs sentiment, 
is not hell uppermost in the soul? 

4. 4. 4* 

An ambitious spirit enters the tur- 
bulent field of politics; he pours out 
his thoughts and dreams to his people 
and they cheer him on in the conflict ; 
but as he climbs the rugged steeps he 
leaves happiness behind him — and his 
hair, too, if he has any hair — until at 

last he reaches the summit with a hole 
in his vanity and his pride in a sling. 
Whoever enters the field of politics 
will find Jordan a hard road to travel, 
for there is Ingratitude whetting its 
knife and croudiing in the darfiiess 
waiting for the opportunity to spring 
upon its benefactor and friend. Did 
you ever throw the life-line to a man 
and drag him safely to the shore, but 
when his feet were on the rock and 
his clothes were dry he slipped up be- 
hind to stab you in the back or to push 
you into the flood from which you have 
rescued him? That is politics. 
There stands 

"the hypocrite with holy leer. 
Soft smiling and demurely looking down 
But hid the dagger underneath the gown." 

That is politics. 

And yonder is green-eyed Envy with 
his bosom full of serpents, scattering 
slanders everywhere, and at every 
word a reputation dies. That is poli- 

But when the struggle is ended and 
the victory won and the proud old 
politician stands there clothed with 
power and crowned with glory, with 
neither malice in his heart nor bitter- 
ness on his lips, the railroads snatch 
him bald-headed because he demands 
that they obey the law, the trusts kick 
him in the ribs because he is for tariff 
reform, the combines put the gaff 
in him because he is opposed to mo- 
nopoly, the corporation-owned press 
tears off his coat-tails because he is op- 
posed to the encroachment of the fed- 
eral power upon the reserved rights 
of the states, declaring in flaming 
words that "nobody takes him seri- 
ously'* — and that is hell. 

Digitized by 


With Our Editors 


It was J. M. Barrie who said of 
life that it was a story which a man 
starts to write, but is scarcely well bc- 

gun before he finds his pen 

The Pen saying very different 

of Destiny things from the purpose of 

the author. Certainly this 
is true of nations whose governments 
are never controlled by a single pur- 
pose, but always by the most powerful 
of a number of conflicting ones. The 
wish of the populace to-day is differ- 
ent from their wish yesterday. Their 
idols come and go as do their policies. 
There was a time in the history of the 
American government when the pos- 
session of insular territory and the 
control of colonies was a thing univer- 
sally opposed. It used to be the max- 
im of our government that we would 
annex no territory that would need a 
navy to defend it, and that maxim was 
based upon other real facts of the 
case, upon the general principle that 
one must take care of what he has. 
But very often it costs more to take 
care of things than they are worth, 
and that is what the United States 
government is finding to be the case 
with the Philippine Islands. Not now, 
perhaps not in a hundred years, but 
inevitably they will have to be deifend- 
ed either against foreign nations or 
against themselves, and that it will 
cost money no sane person doubts, and 
a good deal more money than they 
are worth — to us. A good, stiff fight 
with Japan would do more to help us 
get rid of them than anything else. 
What a nation that owns a continent 
wants with a lot of islands over-popu- 
lated with indigent, ignorant Malays 
is beginning to be a question again. 
Republicans and Democrats are join- 
ing in answering. The simple facts of 
the case are that the United States 
alone occupies an impregnable posi- 

tion, being over three thousand miles 
from any considerable rival, but the 
United States with the Philippine 
Islands, entirely alters the case. They 
are liable to cost us more in money 
and manhood than an empire would 
be worth. 

The occurrences of the last few 
months in the labor world and in 
financial circles may well give pause 
to that wholesale and 
How the reckless warfare against 
Demagogue all classes of rich corpo- 
Comee High rations which has char- 
acterized American poli- 
tics of the last two years. The won- 
derful demand for capital to be used 
in developing the resources of the 
world has been nowhere greater than 
in the South. Men of daring and of 
financial genius have been found who 
were able and willing to lead in that 
remarkable decade of improvement 
which has just ended. After forty 
years of wandering in the wilderness 
the South has at last sighted her 
promised land. It would seem that 
she would be the last section in the 
Union to desire any change in the fi- 
nancial situation; yet lately she has 
not been behind in doing her part to- 
ward retarding industrial progress 
within her own borders. There are 
more sensible ways, for example, to 
fix railroad rates than that devised by 
most of our states, as Governor 
Hughes, of New York, has lately 
proven. The truth of the matter is 
that the people have just begun to re- 
alize how intimately connected their 
own fortunes are with the railroads, 
whether they own one dollar's worth 
of stock in them or not. Yet it is a 
singular fact that nothing short of be- 
ing brought face to face with finan- 
cial disaster will usually suffice to 


Digitized by 





make good times realize how bad bad 
times are. There has been too much 
senseless ranting against capital. Poli- 
ticians desiring offices have led in the 
bad work. The demagogue, made so 
from ignorance, and the demagogue 
from expediency have united with sen- 
sible men and anarchists to give to the 
people that half-baked legislation 
which has given the whole country in- 
digestion. It is not generally known 
to that section of our population which 
is accustomed to accuse our railroads 
of extortionate rates that the freight 
rates of this country are not one-third 
as high as Great Britain, not one-half 
as high as Germany, and only one- 
third as high as France. A kind of 
mania seems to have seized on the 
people of this country urging them 
by every means to hamper the devel- 
opment of the great industrial corpo- 
rations, although these corporations 
have done more than any other cause 
to create the wealth of the American 
people. It seems odd that at the cli- 
max of our prosperity discontent 
should be able to strike blows so 
hard and that our memories should 
not be long lived enough to remember 
how idle men walked our streets in 
'93-'96 seeking work when there was 
none to be had. 

In one point, at least, and that a very 
important one, the Southern States 
are blessed. The search of the coming 

years is destined to be a 

The a search for power, for clean, 

Electric flexible power, for cheap, 

People transmissible power. Which 

is another way of saying 
that electric motors, if they can be run 
cheaply, constitute the ideal form of 
energy. More and more it is being 
found that the smoke and dirt and cost 
of coal handicap it as compared with 
the new form of power, electricity. It 
is just here that the South is so well 
supplied. The streams that flow down 
from the mountains to the sea are wil- 
ling and strong enough to turn many 
millions of spindles. There are vil- 
lages and cities in the South of which 
electricity is the foundation, the life 
blood, the skeleton or the anything 

else which is important. Charlotte, 
North Carolina; Columbus, Georgia; 
and other cities similar in size and lo- 
cation, are being built up upon the 
basis of the electric fluid. It is a 
power which is noiseless, clean, smoke- 
less, coming as it does from the rivers 
and the valleys, and these great water 
powers send it forth unceasingly to 
do the work of the Southern mills. 

There is probably no one thing 
which promises more for the South 
than the combination of its many 

water powers and its great 

The New monopoly. The Southern 

Milky Way gun, which lifts the waters 

to the crests of the moun- 
tains and causes the cotton plant to 
blossom in profusion, blazes a sec- 
ond time in the myriad electric lights 
that are making the piedmont sections 
of the South a new milky way at night, 
and is performing again its toils in 
turning the mill wheels of her thou- 
sand villages. Perhaps the most 
promising thing about it is that the 
development of these powers has just 
b'gun. Not a tenth, not a twentieth, 
perhaps not a fiftieth of her water 
TK)\vers have as yet been developed. In 
fact, the most accurate figures ap- 
proach the latter estimate more nearly 
than any other, and this is a power 
that will not cease its labors until the 
fires of the sun shall grow cold, or the 
continents be washed level with the 
ocean, or the waters of the earth sink 
into its interior, none of which things 
are likely to happen in the present gen- 
eration. The coal mines are destined 
to give out — very quickly, as compared 
with the length of a people's history — 
but the water that trickles down from 
the mountain side will not cease as 
lon^ as the sun shines. The Southern 
states of this continent being richest 
in water powers are destined natural- 
ly to be richest in dollars. Further- 
more, the general use of electricity, 
while a new thing, is becoming more 
and more common. Electric cook- 
ing, electric heating, electric ironing, 
electric sewing — these are some of the 
uses to which the new form of power 

Digitized by 




IS being put. Electricity is good for 
ever>thing. from heating a hot water 
bag to a wireless outfit for calling the 

As to the cost, gas at a dollar per 
thousand cubic feet is just about equal 
to electricity at two and one-half cents 
per kilowatt hour. If it is managed 
properly for cooking, it will not be 
exorbitant, provided the charge is not 
above the figure quoted. Perhaps 
during the coming years we may see 
farm houses, as well as cotton mills, 
equipped with electricity. If so, they 
will have cool kitchens and clean ones, 
the housewives will not be bothered 
with washing chimneys for kerosene 
lamps; perhaps there will even be 
vacuum cleaners instead of the old 
brooms and brushes. Will an electric 
pump hoist the water to a tank on top 
of the house? Will a little laundry be 
equipped with nicely running motors? 
Will these arrangements do away en- 
tirely with that tired feeling? Over 
in the Carolinas there is a region 
whose center is Catawba, South Caro- 
lina, which is supplied by a single 
company, and which is larger than the 
state of Connecticut. There are near- 
ly fifty power stations and perhaps ap- 
proximately a million people served 
by it. They sell electricity at the 
rate of $20 per horse power per year, 
which, when figured down to the kilo- 
watt hour, comes to something like 
eight-tenths of a cent per kilowatt 
hour, which is just about half as cheap 
as gas or coal or wood. This, indeed, 
is the blessing of the sun and the 
mountains with which the Southland 
is showered, and when the whole three 
million horse power is developed, in- 
stead of the little 100,000 that we now 
have, the Southern states will be in- 
habited by the electric people, and will 
be blessed with the one clean, cheap, 
flexible, sempiternal motive power. To 
add that it is the one power also best 
suited to a warm climate is unneces- 

It is not going too far to say that 
the time will come when the most in- 
dustrious farmers who live in the elec- 
tric region will live by electricity, 

from the trolley car on which he loads 
his freight, to the telephone over 
which he sells it. There are even 
those who suggest that when the tel- 
harmonium has been perfected, the 
symphonies of New York and Boston 
will be listened to by myriads of farm- 
ers in the Southland when the even- 
ing's work is done. If we get the 
storage battery made perfect, perhaps 
they will fly by electricity. The pre- 
diction of Sir Hugh Bell that within 
a hundred years ocean liners will cross 
the Atlantic with power generated at 
Niagara Falls and transmitted to them 
wirelessly, may be like all the other 
great inventions^— a dream. Certain it 
is that the electric age is upon us. 

Few movements have been of more 
interest to the Southern States than 
the tremendous impetus given to the 
De Jure Prohibition Cause during the 

^^ last few years and especially 

De Fjict ^"^^"& *^^ '^^^ ^^^ months. 
It seems scarcely believable 
that Kentucky is practically a prohi- 
bition state. One hundred out of one 
hundred and nineteen counties have 
gone dry, and hundreds of saloons 
have been closed up in that common- 
wealth, and the prohibitionists are ex- 
ultant. Yet the whisper comes that 
de facto the state is wetter than ever. 
The collector of internal revenue for 
the Louisville district says that more 
than two million dollars worth of 
whiskey was tax-paid in that district 
for the year ending June 30, 1907. 
The Louisville district is known to be 
one of the heaviest whisky districts in 
the United States. Of course it is not 
to be supposed that all of this whisky 
was sold in and around Louisville, but 
the distillers say that the figures fairly 
represent the proportionate increase 
in the amount drunk in that district. 
During the year ending June 30th, 
1906, only fourteen gallons were pro- 
duced in that district as against two 
and a half last year. The above facts, 
when taken in connection with others, 
seem to throw doubt upon the efficacy 
of our present plan of legislating men 
into soberness. There is no difference 

Digitized by 




of sentiment among the good people 
of the land as to the wisdom of pro- 
moting the temperate use of all stimu- 
lating and intoxicating beverages. Es- 
pecially here in the South, where from 
twenty-five to sixty per cent of our 
population are negroes, is it necessary 
to keep strict surveillance upon the sa- 
loon, and from every point of view it 
is desirable that our people should be 
temperate. The new prohibition law, 
however, will be watched by a large 
element of the good people with a kind 
of hopeful incredulity. The truth of 
the matter is that if the sale of whis- 
ky is to be put out of business in 
the South the way to do it is by stop- 
ping the manufacture of it. Mow- 
ing a wild onion bed does not serious- 
ly damage next year's crop. People 
•^ill drink whisky as long as they can 
get it, they will get it as long as it is 
made. The saloon may go, but it 
will only give place to the sideboard 
as long as whisky is manufactured. • 

The American people are, on the 
whole, we think, a hopeful, optimistic 
folk, and so most of the magazine lit- 
erature they print and 
The Rights read takes this bright, 

of the cheerful view of things 

Seamy Side as its keynote, well- 
nigh to the exclusion of 
the more somber side of life. Now, 
this desire to please is particularly 
characteristic of the American short 
story. Our common short story is a 
wonderfully deferential piece of lit- 
erature. It wouldn't hurt your feel- 
ings for the world. We think, some- 
times, they were all written in the par- 
lor. The usual short story brings the 
two together and then hurries them, 
after a few conventional detours, gaily 
to the altar, leaving them there with 
the intimation, if not the exact words, 
of ye olden story-tellers that "they 
lived happily ever afterward." Just 
at this delightful culmination, Experi- 
ence steps up, taps the reader's shoul- 
der and whispers, "but very often, you 
know, they don't live 'happily ever 
afterward' — that is just magazine fic- 

Now, in our opinion, there lies with- 

in the short story the possibility of 
making as strong and vivid an im- 
pression as may be produced by any 
form of literature. A short story is 
to a novel what a rifle is to a gatling 
gun. The short story is compressed, 
may be aimed at any particular point, 
and, above all other things, it pos- 
sesses unity, a factor which renders it 
capable of producing an abrupt and 
most trenchant effect. 

So this is the question we wish to 
ask: Is it right to turn so potent an 
instrument on mere frivolity and 
amusement? The ability to do a 
great work binds the possessor to do 
it. The ability to present in a striking, 
forceful manner what is tender and 
sore and wrong in our country and 
what should be righted, binds man or 
magazine, hand and foot, to show the 
wrong and proclaim the right. 

What leads to this line of thought 
is the fact that we recently published 
a cotton mill story entitled "Thrall of 
the Green" that brought us a number 
of letters both of praise and protest. 
Our most temperate reader must ad- 
mit that cotton mill conditions in the 
South are not exactly what they should 
"be. The owners of cotton mills them- 
selves appreciate this fact. Many 
and many of them are working to bet- 
ter the present state of things. And 
now merely because cotton mill con- 
ditions are unsavory, are we to taboo 
this subject from our pages? What 
are the rights of the seamy side? 

This is a Southern magazine for all 
the world. We are honestly striving 
to depict the South, not the sunshiny 
South alone, nor the gloomy South 
exclusively, but the South as we find it, 
mostly sunshiny, sometimes cloudy, 
but always fair to our eyes and always 

The movement among the Southern 
States looking toward the improve- 
ment of their public highways is 
one that will command interest every- 
where. Good roads are be- 
The ginning at last to be looked 
Roads upon in the light of a ne- 
cessity, and their expensiveness 
is easily offset by the saving to farm- 

Digitized by 




ers and pleasure seekers of a very lib- 
eral interest on the amount invested. 
Perhaps the chief obstacle to be over- 
come is the long distances which must 
needs be traversed by state roads and 
the laree public appropriations neces- 
sary to the building of any adequate 
state system. Outside of the section 
around Charlotte, North Carolina, and 
a few like progressive cities of the 
Eastern slope, and outside of the good 
roads of Tennessee and Kentucky, the 
highways of the Southern States are 
a very bad indication of the general 
good sense of the people. It has taken 
the little state of Massachusetts almost 
300 years of unintermittent prosperity 
to perfect her system of state roads, 
and her work is not yet complete. We 
may expect, therefore, that in the 
South it will be at least a century be- 
fore our country sections are even 
moderately well gridironed with mac- 
adam roads — ^perhaps twice that long 
will be taken in giving to the citizens 
of the South a satisfactory public 
transportation system. Even then the 
task must needs be heroic, for unless 
the condition of the blade half of the 
South chang:es materially about one- 
half of the citizens will have to do all 
of the improvement. When one con- 
siders that the population per mile in 
the state of Massachusetts is some- 
thing like 400, and in the state of 
South Carolina, for example (which 
is one of the most thickly populated 
of the Southern States), is something 
like 47, it is very easily seen how diffi- 
cult a task the state has before it. Add 
to this the fact that 60 per cent of the 
population of South Carolina belongs 
to a race that is indigent and improvi- 
dent, and the herculean nature of the 
task is still plainer. Yet the work can 
be accomplished, and will be, and the 
sooner the better. Tennessee and 
Kentucky are especially to be con- 
gratulated upon the progress made, 
and the piedmont section of the Caro- 
linas and Georgia are aspiring to be a 
close second. We may 'look forward 
during the next half century to the ' 
creation of a public opinion in the 
South which will demand better roads 
and more of them. 

It is not generally known to the av- 
erage American that the countries 
south of us and' the countiy north of 

us are making strides in the 

^^^ industrial world which are 

Others the full equal of our own.. 

Prosper. Vast millions of American 

money are being taken to de- 
velop their resources. Little countries 
like Porto Rico and the small Cen- 
tral American republics have taken 
from five to ten million dollars each 
in the last two or three years, and in 
Cuba at least one hundred and fifty 
million dollars of American money 
may be found. This indicates a condi- 
tion of affairs worthy of notice, and 
suggests that with the multitudinous 
places for the use of cash within our 
own bounds, the chances for good in- 
vestments in Latin America must be 
fine indeed, or else our money would 
stay at home. That there are such 
chances the well-posted have long 
known. Take, for example, the city 
of Rio Janeiro. Its population is 
about one million, yet, excepting only 
New York city, it spent more money 
last year for local and public improve- 
ments than any other city in America. 
The United States is a great nation, 
and there are those among us who 
think our annual bill for the develop- 
ment of our rivers and harbors is en- 
tirely too much; yet Brazil, whose 
population is insignificant, compared 
with pur own, spent more money last 
year on its rivers and harbors than the 
United States plus the individual ex- 
penditures of its several states com- 
bined. Such facts as these should 
suggest to those who would destroy 
our industrial fabric that their work 
should not •be difficult. It should be 
a very easy matter to turn the stream 
of investment away from ourselves 
into other channels. Foolish legisla- 
tion is the easiest way to do this. 
Senseless ranting against capital and 
all successful corporations is a close 
second. Once a good, lusty panic has 
been brought upon us we will all be 
wiser — and poorer. 

Digitized by 




During the Old Home Week which 
was celebrated in Boston in the last 
week in July, there was a placard 
upon one of the leading 
An Old wholesale houses of the city, 
Home which is so full of truth and 
Motto, so expressive of the true sen- 
timent of every patriotic peo- 
ple that it commanded more than the 
usual attention. To come home is to 
the New Englander not unlike the 
home-coming of the Tennessean or 
Georgian, and both are typical of one 
of the very finest phases of American 
character. "A love of Boston," said 
the placard, "is not a passing fancy. 
It is founded on a conviction that here, 
more than anywhere else, does life gain 
best reward, that worth is more keen- 
ly recognized ; that honor is held most 
high ; that charity seeks closest for op- 
portunity; that right is right and 
never can be wrong — and such a love 
endures." Substituting Atlanta, or 
New Orleans, or Richmond for Bos- 
ton, these words are the secret of the 
home-drawing w"hich brings the emi- 
grant back from the West or the 
North, making him seek the old tree 
by the well under which he vowed to 
do such great things that his native 
village would remember him forever. 
Happy is the man who realizes that 
among his own people more than any- 
where else life gains its best reward, 
and worth grows to be most keenly 
recognized. Happy also is he who re- 
solves that in his own city right shall 
be right and wrong shall be wrong; 
that charity there shall seek constantly 
for opportunity. Such love as this has 
made Boston great as it will make 
great every city whose heart is full of 

It should be remembered by all who 
aspire to write about the disfranchise- 
ment laws of the South that they are 
not laws disfranchising the 
Things negro. Their whole pur- 
Thcy Are pose and tenor is to elimi- 
Not nate from the suffrage the 
ignorant, purchasable vote, 
so that elections in the Southern 
States can express the will of the edu- 

cated, property-owning citizen. It 
happens that out of lOO indigent, igno- 
rant and immoral citizens some ninety 
have black skins. If it were not so 
there would be no need of such suf- 
frage laws. The so-called disfran- 
chisement law of South Carolina is 
practically the same as that of Massa- 
chusetts, and is arranged so that no 
self-respecting, property-owning or 
educated negro is excluded from the 
polls. If he owns as much as $200 
worth of property, or if he can read 
and write he can vote. To make the 
suffrage laws lower would be a mis- 
take, were every citizen of the state 
a white man. In this connection also 
it would be well to call the attention 
of those who wield the pen to the mis- 
take that is often made of considering 
the so-called Jim-Crow laws as a 
hardship or insult to the colored peo- 
ple. If there is an insult in them, 
it is not on the part of the legislators 
nor of the white citizens of the South, 
but comes from the mind of him who 
takes it to have been intended as such. 
No one would think that a law com- 
pelling white people to be seated sepa- 
rately in street cars or in the railway 
trains would be an insult to the white 
people, provided as good accommoda- 
tions are furnished to the white as to 
any other race from which it might be 
deemed expedient to separate him. 
The pitiful part about the whole sub- 
ject is the fact that a negro considers 
it an insult to be forced to associate 
with himself. Jim-Crow cars are 
classed by him and by some of his so- 
called friends as degrading. All of 
which calls to mind that ancient sen- 
tence, "There is nothing unclean of 
itself, but to him that thinketh a thing 
to be unclean, to him it is unclean.*' 
Until the negro really begins to re- 
spect itself and is unashamed to as- 
sociate with itself and is not eternally 
whining to be taken into white compa- 
ny, its progress must necessarily be al- 
most hopelessly retarded. Nothing 
could throw a clearer light on the race 
situation than just this fact that to be 
alone is to the white race a thing to be 
desired, and to the black race a thing 
to be avoided. 

Digitized by 


We bATe begun this department eacpeoting our readers to make it. It has been suggested b/ a 
number of onr readers, and there is no department that should be more popular. There are few of us 
who haye not in old scrap books, or elsewhere, something— in prose or poetrv— that we cherish : that 
has become part of our souls. Send them in, thus preserving them and permitting others to enjoy ihem. 


"Who stuffed that white owl?" No one 
spoke in the shop ; 

The barber was busy and he couldn't stop ; 

The customers waiting their turn were all 

The Daily, the Herald, the Post, little heed- 

That young man who blurted out such a 
blunt question ; 

Not one raised a head, or even made a sug- 
gestion ; 
And the barber kept on shaving. 

"Don*t you see, Mister Brown," 

Cried the youth, with a frown, 

"How wrong the whole thing is, 

How preposterous each wing is, 

How flattened the head is, how jammed 

down the neck is — 
In short, the whole owl, what an ignorant 

wreck 'tis? 
I make no apology; 
I've learned owl-eology. 
I've passed days and nights in a hundred 

And cannot be blinded to any deflections 
Arising from unskillful fingers that fail 
To stuff a bird right, from his beak to 

his tail. 
Mister Brown! Mister Brown! 
Do take that bird down. 
Or you'll soon be the laughing stock all 

over town !" 
, And the barber kept on shaving. 

"I've studied owls, and other night fowls, 

And I tell you what I know to be true: 

An owl cannot roost with his limbs so un- 
loosed ; 

No owl in this world ever had his claws 

Ever had his legs slanted, ever had his 
bill canted. 

Ever had his neck screwed into that atti- 

He can't do it, because 'tis against all bird 

Anatomy teaches, ornithology preaches, 

An owl has a toe that can't turn out so! 

I've made the white owl my study for 

And to sec such a job almost moves me 
to tears. 

Mister Brown, I'm amazed ypu should be 
so near crazed 

As to put up a bird in that posture ab- 
surd ! 

To look at that owl really brings on a 

dizziness ; 
The man who stuffed him don't half know 

his business!" 
And the barber kept on shaving. 

"Examine those eyes, I'm filled with sur- 

Taxidermists should pass off on you such 
poor glass; 

So unnatural they seem they'd make Au 
dubon scream, 

And John Burroughs laugh to encounter 
such chaff. 

Do take the bird down; have him stuffed 
again, Brown !" 
And the barber kept on shaving. 

"With some sawdust and bark I could 
stuff in the dark 

An owl better than that, I could make an 
old hat 

Look more like an owl than that horrid 

Stuck up there so stiff, like a side of 
coarse leather. 

In fact, about him there's not one natu- 
ral feather." 

Just then, with a wink and a sly normal 

The owl, very gravely, got down from his 

Walked round, and regarded his fault- 
finding critic 

(Who thought he was stuffed) with a 
glance analytic, 

And then fairly hooted, as if he should say : 

"Your learning's at fault this time, any- 

Don't waste it again on a live bird, I pray. 

I'm an owl; you're another. Sir Critic, 
good-day !' 
And the barber kept on shaving. 

— James T. Fields. 


I arise from dreams of thee 

In the first sweet sleep of night, 
When the winds are breathing low 

And the stars are shining bright. 
I arise from dreams of thee, 

And a spirit in my feet 
Hath led me — who knows how? 

To thy chamber window, Sweet. 

The wandering airs they faint 
^ In the dark, the silent stream- 

Digitized by 




And the champak odors pine 
Like sweet thoughts in a dream; 

The nightingale's complaint 
It dies upon her heart ; 

As I must die on thine^ 
Oh, beloved as thou artl 

Oh, lift me from the grass ! 

I die! I faint 1 I faill 
Let thy love in kisses rain 

On my lips and eyelids pale. 
My cheek is cold and white, alasl 

My heart beats loud and fast; 
Oh, press it to thine own again, 

Where it will break at lastl 

— Percy Bysshe Shelley. 


"Bound with a Bond not God Himself 
Will Sever, the Babe I Bore Is Mine For 
Ever and Ever." 

My child is mine, 

Blood of my blood, flesh of my flesh is he, 

Rocked on my breast and nurtured at my 

Fed with sweet thoughts ere ever he drew 

Wrested in battle through the gates of 

With passionate patience is my treasure 

And all my pain with priceless joy re- 

My child is mine. 
Nay, but a thousand thousand powers of 

Dispute him with me; lurking wolf-like 

In every covert of the ambushed years. 
Disease and danger dog him; foes and 

Bestride his path, with menace fierce and 

Help me, O God! These arc too mighty 

for me! 

My child is mine. 
But pomp and glitter of the garish world 
May wean him hence; while, tenderly un- 
Like a spring leaf, his delicate, spotless 

Open in blinding sunlight. And the blaze 
Of bloom and blossom, scents and songs at 

May woo him from my wardenship of quiet. 

My child is mine. 
Yes, all his grey forefathers of the past 
Challenge the dear possession; they over- 
His soul's clear purity with dregs and lies 
Of vile unknown ancestral impulses; 
And viewless hands, from shadowy re- 
gions groping. 

With dim negation frustrate all my hop- 

My child is mine. 
By what black fate, what ultimate doom 

Shall be that radiant certainty rcvcrs'd? 
Tho* hell should thrust its fiery gulfs be- 
Tho* all the heaven of heavens should in- 
Bound with a bond not God Himself will 

The babe I bore is mine for ever and ever. 

My child is mine. 
— From London Spectator. Author not 


Oh, my luve is like a red, red rose. 
That's newly sprung in June; 

Oh, my luve is like the. melodic 
That's sweetly played in tunc 

As fair thou art^ my bonnie lass. 

So deep in the luve am I : 
And I will luve thee still, my dear. 

Till a' the seas gang dry. 

Till a' the seas gang dry, my dear. 
And the rocks melt wi' the sun ; 

I will luve thee still, my dear, 
While the sands o' life shall run. 

And fare thee weel, my only luve I 
And fare thee weel awhile! 

And I will come again, my luve, 
Tho it were ten thousand mile. 

— Robert Burns. 


It was many and many a year ago. 

In a kingdom by^ the sea, 
That a maiden there lived whom you may' 
By the name of Annabel Lee; 
And this maiden she lived with no other 
Than to love and be loved by me. 

I was a child and she was a child, 

In this kingdom by the sea : 
But we loved with a love that was more 
than love — 
I and my Annabel Lee ; 
With a love that the winged seraphs of 
Coveted her and me. 

And this was the reason that, long ago. 

In this kingdom by the sea, 
A wind blew out of a cloud, that chilled 

My beautiful Annabel Lee; 
So that her high-bom kinsman came 

And bore her away from me. 
To shut her up in a sepulcher 

In this kingdom by the sea. 

Digitized by 




The angels, not half so happy in heaven, 

Went envying her and me— 
Yes!— that was the reason (as all men 
In this kingdom by the sea) 
That the wind came out of the cloud by 
Chilling and killing my Annabel Lee. 

But our love it was stronger by far than 
the love 
Of those who were older than we — 
Of many far wiser than we ; 
And neither the angels in heaven above. 
Nor the demons down under the sea, 
Can ever dissever my soul from the soul 

Of the beautiful Annabel Lee: 
For the moon never beams, without bring- 
ing me dreams 
Of the beautiful Annabel Lee; 
And the stars never rise, but I feel the 
bright eyes 
Of the beautiful Annabel Lee; 
And so, all the night-tide, I lie down by the 

Of my darling — ^my darling— my life and 
my bride. 
In the sepulcher there by the sea, 
In her tomb by the sounding sea. 

— Edgar Allan Poe. 

Thb Taylor-Trotwood Magazine Co., 
Nashville, Tenn. 

Gentlemen: Among the many good 
good things in your excellent magazine, I 
e^ecially like to look over the Scrap Book 
D^artment While most of the articles 
submitted are of the poetical variety, I see 
no good reason why we should not mix in a 
little prose. I am inclosing my little mite 
for your consideration, and if not 'suitable, 
no matter, as I will think just as much as 
ever of your paper. I have forgotten the 
name of the paper from which this was 
slipped, so cannot give the proper credit. 
On the death of the late Mr. Vest, a few 
years ago, a great many stories and anec- 
dotes were published about him. I liked 
this one better than all. As Mr. Vest was 
a Southern man, and as I have never seen 
this story in print but the one time, I am 
in hopes that it might interest some of your 
many readers. 

Very truly yours, 

Roe, Arkansas. F. Trotter: 

[This is one of the little masterpieces of 
sentiment that will live, and we thank Mr. 
Trotter for sending it. — Eds.] 


One of the pretty incidents told by Mr. 
Vest was his eulogy of a dog in a country 
court in Missouri. Mr. Vest was waiting 
for a case to be called in which he was in- 
terested. The dog case came up and a niati 

was being sued for killing his neighbor's 
dog. He became interested and the plain- 
tiff's attorney urged him to speak. He 
arose and said slowly : 

"Gentlemen of the Jury— The best friend 
a man has in the world may turn against 
him and become his enemy. His son or 
daughter, whom he has reared with loving 
care, may prove ungrateful Those who 
are nearest and dearest to us, those whom 
we trust with our happiness and our good 
name, may become traitors to their faith. 
The money that a man has he may lose. It 
flies away from him when he needs it most. 
A man's reputation may be sacrificed in a 
moment of ill-considered action. The peo- 
ple who are prone to fall on their knees 
to do us honor when success is with us 
may be the first to throw the stone of malice 
when failure sets its cloud upon our heads. 

"The one absolutely unselfish friend that 
man can have in this selfish world— the one 
that never deserts him, and one that never 
proves ungrateful or treacherous, is his dog. 
A man's dog stands by him in prosperity 
and in poverty, in health and sickness. He 
will sleep on the cold ground, where the 
wintry winds blow and the snow drives 
fiercely, if only he may be near his mas- 
ter's side. He will kiss the hand that has 
no food to offer; he will lick the wounds 
and sores that come in encounter with the 
roughness of the world. He guards the 
sleep of his pauper master as if he were 
a prince ; when all other friends desert, he 
remains. When riches take wings and 
reputation falls to pieces, he is as constant 
in his love as the sun in its journeying 
through the heavens. 

"If fortune drives the master forth an 
outcast in the world, friendless and home- 
less, the faithful dog asks no higher privi- 
lege than that of accompanying him, to 
guard against danger, to fight against his 
enemies. And when the last scene of all 
comes, and death takes his master in its 
embrace, and his body is laid away in the 
cold ground, no matter if all other friends 
pursue their way, there by the graveside 
will the noble dog be found, his head be- 
tween his paws, his eyes sad, but open in 
alert watchfulness, faithful and true even 
in death." 

Then Mr. Vest sat down. He had spok- 
en in a low voice, without a gesture. He 
made no reference to the evidence of the 
merits of the case. When he finished judge 
and jury were wiping their eyes. The jury 
filed out, but soon re-entered with a ver- 
dict of $500 for the plaintiff, whose dog 
was shot; and it is said that some of the 
jurors wanted to hang the defendant 

Mr. Vest's life was full of such incidents. 
He was a poor man — as riches go, but what- 
ever he had was at the service of any one 
in need. He loved children — he loved his 
fellow man — and he left a name of which 
his children may w?11 be pr#ii(l. 

Digitized by 



Omar Khayyam. By George Roe. 

Chicago: A. C. McClurg & Co. 

Price, $1.75. 
Like the first translator of the Per- 
sian tent-maker's verse, Mr. Roe is 
an Englishman. He has for years been 
a member of the Khayyam Qub, and 
through his interest in this club has 
been led to make a thorough study of 
the Sufi philosophy and the Persian 
language, resulting in a translation of 
the principal quatrains into verse of 
exquisite English form. Mr. Roe has 
very wisely accented the philosophy, 
rather than the rhyme, of the quatrains, 
and in this shows more of the true 
poetic art than has been hitherto met 
with in these translations. Mr. Roe 
is an indefatigable traveler, and his 
experiences, as well as his talents, fit 
him peculiarly for authorship. He has 
another book in preparation, a Per- 
sion version of the creation of the 

The Heart That Knows. By 
Charles G. D. Roberts. Boston: 
L. C Page & Co. Price, $1.50. 
The Canadian professor, poet and 
nature story writer has shown his ver- 
satility in a problem novel. The scene 
is laid in a fishing village on the New 
Brunswick coast, and the theme is that 
of a loving woman who stoops to folly 
and *'learns, too late, that men betray." 
Luella Warden, the heroine, though 
belonging to the rude fisher folk of 
the hamlet, displays a strength and 
brave honesty that is elevating. The 
whole story is handled with admirable 
delicacy and skill. 

Aunt Jane, of Kentucky. By Eliza 

Calvert Hall. Boston : Little, Brown 

& Co. Price, $1.50. 

Seldom does a short story win such 

success as to justify its amplification 

into a novel, but this was Mrs. Hall's 
experience with "Sally Ann's Experi- 
ence," which appeared in magazine 
form and attracted so much attention 
that the author was besieged with let- 
ters requesting further information 
concerning the interesting folks de- 
scribed. The result is a charming 
study of neighborhood life in a rural 
Kentucky district. Mrs. Hall has a 
happy faculty of making her charac- 
ters live and breathe and seem like 
"home folks," while treating the in- 
cidents of their lives so that they seem 
fresh and unhackneyed. 

Roy and Ray in Mexico. By Mary 
Wright Plummer. New York: 
Henry Holt & Co. Price, $1.75. 
To make history and geography at- 
tractive to young readers is a difficult 
matter, but Mrs. Plummer, in writing 
of the "truly" travels of the Stevens 
twins, manages to convey a good bit 
of both in a delightfully palatable way. 
The children learn much of the mus»r 
of Mexico and the national favorites 
are produced, with words and notes, 
at the end of the volume. It is a valua- 
ble travel guide, and a particularly 
helpful book to teachers and school 

Spanish Explorers in the South- 
ern United States. Edited by 
Frederick W. Hodge and Theodore 
H. Lewis. New York: Charles 
Scribner's Sons. Price, $3.50, net. 
Tn this series of original narratives 
of early American history the wander- 
ings of Cabeza de Vaca, the e:>^pedi- 
tion of Coronado and the expedition 
of Hernando de Soto are edited from 
the notes of the explorers themselves. 
These are not extracts, but complete 
translations, and provide students of 
history with comprehensive references 
of the highest historical value. They 

Digitized by 




are embellished with reproductions of 
the maps, plans and drawings of the 
period, and the quaintness of the lit- 
eral translation, added to the na!vet6 
of the old chroniclers, make the work 
as interesting as a volume of romance. 

The Morning Glory Club. By 
George A. Kyle, Boston : L. C. Page 
& Co. Price, $1.25. 
A pleasing, wholesome book of sim- 
ple unpretentiousness. It is a record 
of the work of a woman's club in a 
small village, with the accompanying 
gossip, internal dissension and final 
achievements depicted in sprightly, en- 
tertaining way. A love story runs 
through the account of the trials and 
triumphs of the club. 

The True Patrick Henry. By 
George Morgan. Philadelphia: J. 
B. Lippincott Co. Prise, $1.50. 
Mr. Morgan, for many years the 
editor of the Philadelphia Times, has 
long been a student of history, and is 
peculiarly adapted to the work of con- 
tributing to the Lippincott "True" 
series. The scenes and incidents of 
Patrick Henry's life are plainly told, 
and many false stories are refuted by 
indisputable evidence. Naturally there 
are many dramatic situations, and 
these Mr. Morgan depicts vividly, giv- 
ing a thrilling human interest to his- 
tory. The volume abounds in refer- 
ences and the bibliographical index is 

The White Cat. By Gelett Burgess. 

Indianapolis : Bc*bs-Merrill Co. 

Price, $1.50. 
No one would ever connect the author 
of "The Purple Cow" with Boston, 
but it is a fact that he was born and 
educated there, graduating as a civil 
engineer. His profession took him to 
California, and it was there that this 
ncMisense classic was written. Mr. 
Burgess is versatile, both in his talents 
and his tastes. He has been a col- 
lege professor, a furniture designer 
(he has a decided gift for drawing), a 
magazine editor and a writer of seem- 
ingly infinite variety — poetry, chil- 

dren's stories, adventure, essays and 
romance all flowing gracefully from 
his facile Blickensderfer. In "The 
White Cat" he has entered the field 
of psychological romance and he has 
given us a study of "dissociation of 
personality" much closer to our pres- 
ent experience than Jack London's 
"Before Adam." As the result of a 
shock the heroine's mind is split into 
two personalities, each alternately in 
control of her being and with sepa- 
rate trains of memory. In the de- 
nouement the author defies science 
and provides an original, if not real- 
istic, ending. 

The Ministry of David Baldwin. 
By Henry T. Colestock. New 
York: Thos. Y. Crowell & Co. 
Price, $1.50. 
This intimate account of the change of 
view of an orthodox minister and his 
trial for heresy before his ultra-con- 
servative congregation is especially 
timely in its interest now, in view of 
the Crapsey and other "heresy" trials 
before the public. While the novel is 
not autobiographical, it is a fact that 
Mr. Colestock is a young Virginian 
who abandoned the pulpit for a pro- 
fessor's chair on account of a change 
of convictions, and it is plain that the 
battle between young David's desire 
to be true to his principles and to min- 
ister to his congregation is written 
with a sympathetic pen. An enter- 
taining glimpse of the home-making 
of the young minister and his bride 
gives lightness to the plot, and the 
factions and bickerings of the con- 
gregation are also full of flashes of 

The Chronicles of Martin Hewitt. 

By Arthur Morrison. Boston : L. 

C. Page & Co. Price, $1.50. 
For some years Mr. Morrison's de- 
tective stories have been the standard 
of excellence in American fiction of the 
mystery school, and the demand for 
his work has compelled the re-issue of 
these capital chronicles. The narra- 
tives are well told, and the element of 
plausibility is ever present, 

Digitized by 



This deMrtmant Is open to our reftdars for the expre«iozi of their opinioiui on qoestlons of 
imbUo inteSrMt. The edl^s, while InTltliig oontribadoiis bewlM on meMnree and events of 
9«Mr«l interest, reserre the right to ezolnde Booh matter as is notdeemed soita^ 
responsible for opinions expressed. 

Editors Taylor-Trotwood Magazine: 

I am sending you a translation of the 
Mexican account of the battle of Cerro 
Gk>rdo, taken from a book called "The 
Other Side." It is a graphic story, and I 
can testify to its truth, as I was a par- 
ticipant in the battle. 

Yours very truly, 
Walton, Tenn. . W. B. Walton. 


At dawn on the i8th of April, 1847, the 
roar of the enemy's artillery resounded 
through the camp as a solemn announce- 
ment of a battle. 

On the hill where the brave insurgents 
had in former days shed their blood for 
independence, now waved our flag, and 
under its shadow, from that elevation, was 
seen a line of men who were to serve as a 
wall against the invader. Among the files, 
the different and distinctive ranks of the 
army, from the common soldier to the 
GJeneral-in-Chief, then invested with the 
supreme dignity of the nation, appeared at 
that time in all the prestige and with all 
the splendor which the illusions of patriot- 
ism conceded to them. 

The enemy, using the battery of Atalaya, 
opened from thence, for some hours, their 
fire upon the Tel6grafo, from which our 
own replied. General Santa Anna then 
employed himself in completing the bat- 
tery by the roadside, and the engineers, 
Robles and Cano, under the enemy's fire, 
erected temporary works on the declivity 
of the Tel^grafo, on the very spot where 
the corps who defended the center of the 
position the evening before, had formed. 
Above the positions of the center and the 
right of our line were now the same forces 
which had previously garrisoned them; 
upon the hill the First and Second Light 
were sent, which had gone down early in 
the morning to take their rations. The 
Sixth Infantry returned to cover the right. 
The Fourth of the line remained on the 
spot, where they had fought so bravely 
on the 17th. The cavalry, which had been 
ordered down from Corral Falso in the 
night, formed on the road, resting their 
right opposite the battery just erected, and 
were supported by the Eleventh Infantry. 
The Third and Fourth Light Battalions re- 
mained also formed on the road, ready to 
march to any point that might be desig- 

Such was the disposition of our forces 

before sunrise, while the cannonade was 
becoming more and more active between 
the two hills, until the roar was repeated 
every instant. The enemy, without cessa- 
tion, poured down grenades, rockets and 
all other kinds of projectiles, which fell 
upon the hill, upon the road and even far 
beyond our camp. Their colunms, in the 
meantime, marched beyond the Atalaya, " 
by the crags in front of our left, and about 
seven in the morning one of them, under 
the command of General Twiggs, com- 
menced the attack upon the Tel6grafo. 

General Santa Anna, as soon as he had 
established the battery on the left, pro- 
ceeded to the positions on the right, in- 
fluenced perhaps by his first idea. But 
stopping after he had passed the battery 
of the center, and observing from that spot 
the activity with which the cannonade was 
sustained on our part, sent orders to Gen- 
eral Vazquez not to expend his park, and 
to shelter the troops from the enemy's fire. 
Then returning by the road, on arriving at 
the foot of the Tel6grafo, the fire of mus- 
ketry opened, and he immediately sent up 
the Third and Fourth Light Battalions to 
aid the troops in defending that point. 

The Americans charged with firmness, 
deploying as skirmishers, covering them- 
selves among the bushes and briers that 
were on the ground upon the lines, scarce- 
ly marked out, which it had been intended 
to construct that morning, being supported 
by the Third of the Line, the Second Light 
and part of the Fourth. They made equal 
exertions against the left of the Tel^grafo, 
defended by the Fourth of the Line, and 
against the right, where the Sixth Infantry 
was posted, to reinforce them, as on the 
previous evening. The artillery had ceased 
to play on both sides, on account of the 
proximity of the combatants. The fire of 
the musketry was as active as the excite- 
ment of the contest. Death, flapping her 
wings over the bloody field, set on fire in 
some places by the projectiles of the enemy, 
was mixed in a horrible manner with the 
thick smoke that enveloped thousands 0/ 
men, crimsoned with the contest Our sol- 
diers fell in heaps in the midst of the 
confusion, and the enemy falling also, were 
instantly replaced by others, who seemed 
to reproduce them. There fell the worthv 
Colonel Palacios, commander of the artil- 
lery of the field, wounded by the enemy's 
balls; there a warrior's fame crowned the 
career of General Vazquez, in the fullness 
of his energies, with a glorious death 
amidst the tumult of battle, and three bun- 

Digitized by 


WltM OUR k^ADfiRg 


dred brave men shed their blood in the 
most holy cause. This commander should 
have been succeeded by his second, General 
Uraga, but he was at the head 'of his bat- 
talion, the Fourth of the Line, on the left 
declivity of the Telegrafo, and having not a 
moment to lose, General Baneneli took the 
command, whose corps, the Third Light, 
had remained in reserve, sheltered from 
the fire by the very summit of the hill. The 
activity of the engagement redoubling more 
and more, destroyed new victims. The 
Second Light and the Third and Fourth 
of the Line had lost almost their entire 
force, and even the last the greater part 
of its officers. The enemy, pressing upon 
our troops with superior numbers, suc- 
cessively gained possession of the lower 
works of the position, and without losing 
an instant, rapidly ascended to assault the 
last crest of the hill. 

Some of our soldiers now began to leave 
their ranks, and to descend tiie opposite 
side, attempting to mingle with the 
wounded, who were retiring, but General 
Santa Anna observing it, ordered some of 
his adjutants to prevent this disorder, 
and they, either on compulsion or by the 
stimulus of enthusiasm, succeeded in per- 
suading the fugitives to return. 

In the meantime, General Baneneli ap- 
pealed to the last resource, and ordered his 
men to charge bayonets. They, eager to 
join in an action which they had only 
heard, immediately hastened this move- 
ment in full force, to come up to where 
they were directed, but, surprised at find- 
ing themselves hand to hand with an enemy 
so superior .in numbers, and surrounded 
<» all sides, were panic-struck in an in- 
stanty fell into disorder, and their com- 
mander in vain endeavored to keep them 
in their ranks. Being himself involved 
in the crowd with the chiefs of engineers 
and other officers, who endeavored, sword 
in hand, to keep back the men, they were 
actually rolled together down the opposite 
declivity, borne along by the multitude, 
which poured onward like a torrent from 
the height. 

On the summit of the hill now was seen, 
in the midst of a column of dense smoke, 
a multitude of Americans, standing amidst 
the flashing light of their fires, which were 
directed against the enormous mass of men 
precipitating down the steep declivity, cov- 
ered, as it were, with a white robe from 
the color of their dress. That shocking 
spectacle was like the violent eruption of 
a volcano, throwing out flames and cinders 
from its bosom, and spreading them all 
over its surface. 

Among the fire and smoke, and above 
the mass of blue formed by the Americans 
behind the summit of the Telegrafo, still 
floated our deserted flag. But the banner 
of the stars was soon raised by the enemy 
upon the same staff, and for an instant 

both became entangled and confounded 
together, our own at length falling to the 
ground amidst the shouts and roar of the 
victor's guns and the mournful cries and 
confused voices of the vanquished. 

It was now three-quarters past ten in the 
morning. The enemy had appeared on the 
right of our line during the attack on the 
Telegrafo, and advancing in colunm upon 
our position of the center, endeavored to 
take all of our entrenchments by assault. 
Captain Godinez, of the navy, command- 
ing the artillery, had concerted with the 
respective commanders of the three posi- 
tions, to allow the enemy to advance upon 
any of them without firing, until they 
should approach within a short distance, 
taking the precaution to have the cannon 
loaded with grapeshot. The American 
column, composed of volunteers, under the 
command of General Pillow, approached 
nearer and nearer our lines without receiv- 
ing a single shot, but, as soon as they 
reached a convenient place, a close dis- 
charge of our pieces, which raked their 
ranks, accompanied with a vigorous volley 
of small arms from the three positions, 
made a horrible slaughter among the 
enemy, threw them into disorder, and 
obliged them to make a precipitate re- 

Before they could reorganize, and when 
our soldiers had not suffered the slightest 
loss, the Telegrafo had yielded, and the 
Americans who had possession of it, de- 
scending by the right declivity, upon the 
battery on the road, which our forces had 
now begun to use, entirely cut off those 
positions, now surrounded on all sides, 
and commanded by the hill, from which the 
enemy directed their fire. General Jarero 
no longer attempted any resistance, but 
si»rrendered, with his force. 

When the Telegrafo was lost the Sixth 
Infantry had retreated to the positions on 
the right, where they capitulated with the 
other corps. The grenadier battalion, which 
had been drawn out from the battery of 
the center to the foot of the hill, chiefly 
dispersed in spite of the exertions made to 
collect it 

The brigade of General Arteaga, that 
had arrived in the midst of the conflict, 
being infected by the disorder of the other 
forces, fell into confusion opposite head- 
quarters without having come into action. 
The Eleventh Infantry, in obedience to 
different orders from the Commander- 
in-Chief, made repeated marches and 
countermarches for that same point, while 
the scattered remains of the Second, Third 
and Fourth Battalions, and Third and 
Fourth of the Line there likewise became 
disordered, and the entire mass of men, 
panic-struck, without morale, without dis- 
cipline, moved about in that small piece 
of road in the most frightful state of 

Digitized by 




An enthusiastic officer harang^ued the 
troops at the pitch of his voice, assuring 
them that they had yet lost nothing, wish- 
ing to reanimate the spirit now dead in 
all that unfortunate crowd. General Ba- 
neneli, rushing in with his horse, and full 
of wrath, poured forth a thousand horrible 
imprecations upon his soldiers, and with 
the butt of his pistol threatened particu- 
larly one of his captains. The General- 
in-Chief vented his rage upon the officers 
who had lost their positions, and the agita- 
tion of the multitude and the difficulties of 
the ground, with the general dangers and 
desperation, rendered the scene indescriba- 

In the meantime the enemy's column, 
commanded by General Worth, passing the 
barrancas and crags on our left, which 
had been deemed inaccessible, approached 
the battery that had been thrown up that 
day, the only remaining one in our pos- 
session. The General-in-Chief ordered 
General Canalizo to charge with the cav- 
alry, but the woods absolutely prevented 
the execution of the movement. The 
column advanced in spite of the fire of the 
cannon, in a direction for the road, to the 
left of our battery, to cut off our retreat. 
When, however, they had approached near 
enough, more than two hundred skirmish- 
ers were sent forward, whose balls, as if 
with a breath of wind, fast cleared away 
the men at our guns, which were supplied 
by the artillery and a party of cuirassiers, 
who had been ordered to dismount to re- 
inforce the battery. The first adjutant, 
Velasco, chief of the cuirassiers, had the 
glory of falling at the foot of it. The 
skirmishers advanced to the front of the 
battery, so that the head of the column 
was very near the road, when our cavalry, 
seeing that they were about to be cut onF, 
retreated rapidly by the Jalapa road. The 
last effort was then made by Robles, and 
the brave artillery officers, Malagon, Ar- 
guelles and Olzinger, who, surrounded 
on all sides, turned their pieces towards 
the left, directing them against the head 
of the column, a few moments before the 
skirmishers, who rushed upon them with 
the bayonet, got possession of them, and 
turned them against us. 

General Santa Anna, accompanied by 
some of his adjutants, proceeded by the 
road to the left of the battery, when the 
enemy's column, now coming out of the 
woods, absolutely prevented his passage 
by a discharge which obliged him to fall 
back. The carriage in which he had left 
Jalapa was riddled with shot, the mules 
killed and taken by the enemy, as well as 
a wagon containing sixteen thousand dol- 
lars, received the day before for the pay 
of the troops. Every tie of command and 
obedience now being broken among our 
troops, safety alone being the object, and 
all being involved in a frightful whirl, 
they rushed desperately to the narrow pass 

of the defile that descends to the Plan del 
Rio, where the General-in-Chief had pro- 
ceeded, with the chiefs and officers who 
accompanied him. 

HorriWc, indeed, was the descent by 
that narrow and rocky path, where thou- 
sands rushed, disputing the path with des- 
peration and leaving a trade of blood upon 
the road. All classes being confounded, all 
military distinction and respect being lost, 
the badges of rank became marks of sar- 
casm, that were only meted out accord- 
ing to their grade and humiliation. The 
enemy, now masters of our camp, turned 
their guns upon the fugitives. This aug- 
mented more and more the terror of the 
multitude crowded through the defile, and 
pressed forward every instant by a new 
impulse, which increased the confusion and 
disgrace of the ill-fated day. 

Cerro Gordo was lost Mexico was open 
to the inquiry of the invader. 


[The letter below is a sample of the many 
hundreds we receive each month; but as 
this is unusually full and complete and con- 
tains so many excellent suggestions both to 
us and to our readers we publish it in 
full. We have selected this letter for an- 
other reason — it is an index to our desire 
to show the kind of letters we wish to get 
from our readers — letters expressing a can- 
did opinion of our magazine and its meth- 
ods — letters of great value to us, since they 
give us an idea of what our subscribers 
think. And we are publishing this maga- 
zine to please our subscribers. — Editors.] 

Fargo, N. D., Aug. 13, 1907. 
Mr. John Trot wood Moore^ 
Nashville, Tenn. 

My dear Sir: I see you mentioned a 
chicken hunt in Dakota. You would not 
know our city now, it has grown so since 
you were here, so many new buildings and 
other improvements. We have a fine city 
now and a great country. You should have 
had your chicken hunt here in the early 
day. Out in the western part of the state, 
in the "Cow Country," it was a shame the 
way they were slaughtered ; and ducks, why, 
I have shot so fast that really and truly 
I had to dip the gun in water to cool off 
the barrels; they would get so hot I 
could not hold them. The next time you 
are out this way stop off and we will have 
a hunt, and I will tell you some hunting 
stories of the early days — true ones, that 
will tantalize you and scandalize me ia 
your eyes, I expect. 

In your last issue you wanted to hear from 
your friends in the matter of raising the 
price of the magazine. In the first place 
let me say that if it is raised I will cheer- 
fully pay it, but I very seriously question 
whether it would be for the best I have 
been watching the development of an- 

Digitized by 




other $1.00 per year magazine that is next 
in my heart to Taylor-Trotwood, the Pa- 
cific Monthly, of Portland, Oregon. I like 
it because it is truly Western. I can see 
that it is enabled to live at $1.00 per year, 
because the people there use it liberally 
in advertising their country, not one section 
or place, but the entire extreme West use 
it, boom their country, as it were. 

Can't you get the South to do better by 
you along the same line? If you can there 
will be no need to raise the price, but you 
can give us what you have in the past, 
and even better. Compare the August num- 
ber of Pacific Monthly to yours, as to ad- 
vertising of the country, I mean. Isn't 
there a way to go after and get it in the 
South for Taylor-Trot WOOD? It would 
help Taylor-Trotwood and would help the 
South. Can't you get the real estate men, 
commercial clubs, etc., of the South to do for 
you what the real estate men and commer- 
cial clubs of the West are doing for the 
Pacific Monthly? If you can't, the chances 
are you will have to put up the price. But 
whatever you do, keep it truly Southern. 
Keep out that which we get or can get in 
others. There is too much of a sameness 
in many of the Eastern magazines — ^too 
many of them. Give us, as you have in 
the past. Southern history, biography of 
Southern men. Southern stories, Southern 
poetry, and negro stories. In fact, every- 
thing Southern. If we want anything else, 
we can get it somewhere else. Please ac- 
cept what I have written in the spirit in 
which it is meant 

With kindest regards, I am, your friend, 
Geo. W. Poague. 
# # 

Friend Moore: Inclosed find some sure- 
enough happenings in South Carolina. I 
met up with Polk Miller once in Charles- 
ton, and being a brother druggist, I asked 
how it was he could fill lyceum dates and 
travel all over the country. He replied, 
"Oh! I'd get too rich if I worked all the 
time." Yours truly, 

H. K Aiken. 
Skein I 

The year 1881 was one of Pharaoh's sev- 
en lean ones throughout this section. No 
rain fell during July or August, and the 
stunted crops were burned up by the blis- 
tering drought Bill Davis had, as usual, 
given his lien to a merchant here in town, 
but the dry weather, plus Bill's fondness 
for fishing and htmting squirrels up and 
down Saluda River, gave him the poorest 
prospects for even a third of a crop. When 
he came down about July 15 for another 
load of "rations," the supply man informed 
him that the amount for which he had 
mortgaged his crop was already more than 
taken up, and that he could get no more 
advances unless the rains came and the 

outlook improved. Bill drove home that 
afternoon with an empty wagon, vowing 
that he intended to "plow up every fur- 
row of cotton on the place," but by next 
morning he realized that it would take some 
real work to do this, so he reconsidered, 
dug some bait, got his fishing line, and 
went down the river. As he waited for 
bites, he worked out an easier way of car- 
rying his point .Before starting to town 
some days later, he went down to his spring 
and made up the wash-pot full of red clay 
mush. With this he painted the wheels and 
bespotted the wagon body, finishing up with 
a coat on his mule's legs. When he drove 
up in front of the store later in the day, 
Bill was a subject of hearty congratula- 

"Had a good rain, eh?" 

"Well, a middlin* fair season. Little old 
cloud 'hout big as a sheepskin come over 
late yisterday evenin' — nuver reached no- 
body but me and Sam Whatley's place — he 
got a trash-mover and gully- washer." 

Bill's lien was extended liberally. . . . 
When the sheriff's deputy went up that way 
in November to levy on the crop all was 
desolation and silence about Bill's former 
abode. Even the garden palings had been 
burned for stove- wood. 

I saw Bill among the holiday crowd of 
Christmas shoppers in town and inquired if 
he had not moved out rather hurriedly. 

"No, no," he laughed; "*tuck my time — 
didn't have nuthin' ter do but outen the fire 
and call my dog. I'm gwine live next year 
nearer town — on Major Watt's place. I 
need a man what's got money 'nuff to run 

Skein II 

Miss Jane S., aged *seventy-one, farmer 
and spinster, through long years of indus- 
try and managing for herself, has acquired 
good property and is regarded as one of the 
best citizens of our county. She is a good 
friend of mine, and one day I was teasing 
her about never having married, when she 
came back at me with; "Well, I'd have you 
to know it wasn't because I didn't have my 
share of chances. When I was a young 
gal I moved about a lots — lived awhile at 
Union, then to Greenville and awhile at 
Spartanburg, and fact is, I got my courtin' 
so scattered it never come to nuthin' — 
that's why." 

Skein III 

Money is scarce in this part of the coun- 
try all the year, but from September to 
January times are easier. During this pe- 
riod the fleecy staple is being marketed. 
When a negro has paid up his lien and then 
sells a few bales more, all of which goes to 
him without division, he is the best customer 
a merchant can find. He parts with the 
coin easily. Last fall a clothing salesman 
had sold a patriarchal-looking old darky 
whom he did not know a nice bill of wear- 

Digitized by 




ing apparel. Thinking to say something 
pleasant, he commended him with thanks 
for his patronage, and added : 

"I laiow you are one of the good old kind 
— good church member and all that, in fact, 
ril bet that at home you are one of these 
good old Baptist niggers, ain't you?" 

"No, sir," as he shouldered his bun- 
dles and went out of the door, "you're 
wrong dar; I b'longs to de white fo'kes' 
chun^ myse'f. Fsc a Presbjrterian.'* The 
clerk is a member of the First Baptist. 

Skein IV 

One of the many things a mule pretends 
to be mortally afraid of is a collateral rela- 
tive of his, namely, a donkey. The ordinary 
cottonfield mule will throw a fit at the 
sight of one of these quiet creatures, with- 
out notice to the engineer or passengers. 
My friend Dial, down our street, had pur- 
. chased a donkey for his children. The 
seller put off on him a labor union donkey. 
He must have been a walking delegate, at 
least he was violently opposed to work, and 
being so obstinate, hard-headed and tough- 
hided that the aforesaid children could do 
nothing with him. He walked about the 
neighborhood most of the time, serenely en- 
joying an elegant leisure, grazing on open 
church lots and other unfenced places about 
town. One summer afternoon about dusk 
Dial's donkey was quietly cropping g^ass by 
the side of the street when a dar^ rode in 
from the country, bare-back, on the mule 
he had doubtless plowed since early dawn. 
All of a sudden the negro's mule saw the 
donkey and went into spasms. The rider 
went over the mule's head. The mule 
wheeled and trotted down behind my house 
and b^^an browsing along the railroad cut 
The rider brushed the dust of the street 
from his "over-hauls," got his hat, and mut- 
tering to himself, "I *clar to goodness, dese 
folks in town ought to keep dem things up," 
he went to catch his mount The scare was 
all over now (time, 30 seconds), and it was 
no trouble to do this. 

It is a fact that when a negro gets mad 
with his mule, dog, or any of his daily ani- 
mal associates and is unaware of any white 
man listening, he talks to them just as 
though they were human beings and ex- 
pected to carry on their side of the con- 
troversy. When our colored friend had 
overtaken his riding animal and seized the 
trailing bridle reins, he first gave him a 
good, stout, broadside of a kick in the ribs to 
the accompaniment of "tuhn 'roun' here, 
you triflin' black rascal," and then going up 
to his head he caught hold of the "blinds," 
opening them out wide and looking the 
mule squarely in the eyes, he observed with 
suppressed emotion: 

"John, you is ^ good-lookin' mule, but 
when a man's dun sed dat hit's ev'ry Gawd's 
blessed thing he kin say fur you. Come up 
here, sah 1" and easing himself up on John's 

back, he jogged on down to the drug store 
for "five cents' wu'f of physical salts and 
one of dese here baby-sucks whut you puts 
on a bottle fur young-uns, boss." 
Laurens, S, C. 

Editor Taylor-Trotwood Magazinx: 

In your last issue Mr. J. B. Oakleaf, of 
Moline, Illinois, states that Abraham Lin- 
coln was not sworn into service during the 
Black Hawk War, and distinctly stated that 
that Davis during the war was absent on 
furlough. The latter part of the statement 
at least is incorrect, for while the records 
show that Davis had leave of absence, in 
fact, he was present during the whole of 
the Black Hawk War, probably acting as a 
staff officer. The fact is proven by a state- 
ment made by Davis himself in 1851; he 
mentions it again in a letter written in 1883, 
and he also mentioned it to his secretary, 
W. T. Walthal, who wrote a sketch of 
Davis' life about 1885 ; again in 1887 Davis 
made a statement to Mr. Aldrich, curator 
of the Historical Department of Iowa, in 
which he gave a number of details about the 
Black Hawk War, and distinctly stated that 
he took part in it. We also have the tes- 
timony of A. C. Dodge and G. W. Jones, 
both of whom were later in the United 
States Senate with Davis, that they served 
with Davis in the Black Hawk War, slept 
in his tent and ate at his table. These 
facts, it seems to me, proved that Davis 
served in the Black Hawk War, although 
the records of his company show that he was 
absent on leave. He did not serve with 
his regiment As to his mustering Lincoln 
into service, that is perhaps doubtful, 
though Lincoln believed that he was sworn 
in by Davis; Davis himself was not sure 
about it. It is certain that he acted as a 
mustering officer at times; for instance, he 
was sent by General Atkinson to enlist men 
at Galena, Illinois. Lincoln was enlisted 
several times, and it is possible that Davis 
might have administered oath at one time. 

Yours very truly, 

Walter L. Fleming. 

Louisiana State University, Baton Rouge, 

Editors Taylor-Trotwood Magazine: 

In looking over the June number of your 
magazine, I find in "The Family Scrap 
Book" a poem under the name of "A Mem- 
ory," with this introduction: From an old 
scrap t)ook, and name of author lost" I 
happen to have a copy of this same poem 
under a different title, viz., "In the Fire- 
light," and the name of the author is given. 
The poem is by Eugene Field. I take the 
liberty of calling this to your attention as a 
point of interest Very truly yours, 

Palestine, Texas. Joe H. Ransom. 

Digitized by 




By W. O. Thomas 

HT the rate of forty-fonr miles 
an hour, it is five hours' ride 
from Memphis to Jackson, the 
capital of the great state of Mississip- 
pi. At the same rate, it is two hours 
from Jackson by way of the Gulf & 
Ship Island to Hattiesburg, and by 
the same road it is but two hours' jour- 
ney to Gulfport, the land-locked and 
storm-proof deep water harbor on the 
Mississippi coast. Gulfport is the natu- 
ral gateway to the Isthmus of Pana- 
ma, and through this gateway the im- 
mense lumber and other manufactur- 
ing interests of Hattiesburg will find 
an ever improving outlet. 

Southward the star of empire takes 
its way, and Aladdin has rubbed his 
lamp on Hattiesburg. No city through- 
out the entire country, not even ex- 
cepting the marvelous West, may 
show a more rapid ratio of growth 

than can Hattiesburg. It has only 
been tw^enty-one years since the place 
w~as incorporated. It then had six 
hundred inhabitants and fifty-four 
registered voters, with an assessed 
valuation of $28,000. Even in 1900 
the population was only 4,700. To- 
day the population is 23,000, and the 
total assessed valuation of realty and 
personal property is $6,898,968. The 
actual value of taxable property is es- 
timated at $15,000,000. The tax levy 
for 1896 was only seven and one-half 
mills. Within the past year $185,000 
has been expended in paving the prin- 
cipal streets of the city, and $90,000 
in constructing an artesian waterworks 
system. More than $60,000 has been 
expended in public school buildings. 
In addition, the South Mississippi Col- 
lege furnishes higher instruction. The 
city is also provided with an admirable 

Digitized by 




sewerage system. A well-equipped 
fire department, with three stations, 
safeguards the property of the citi- 
zens. For these and other betterments 
long-time bonds were issued at a five 
per cent interest. The city govern- 
ment is capable and enterprising, and 
is conducted with an eye single to the 
welfare of the municipality. 

Two of the best indices to the 
growth of a city are the postoffice and 
5ie banks. Mr. A. S. Pitts assumed 

States government, and an appropria- 
tion has been expended for a site on 
which to erect a public building. 
There is no doubt but that the next 
Congress will make an af^ropriation 
for a suitable edifice. This should 
have been done before now, but the 
truth is that Hattiesburg has grown so 
rapidly that she has outpaced Uncle 
Sam, who is proverbially dignified and 
f)onderous in his movements. 

For the same reason, Hattiesburg 

L«argest Department Store in South Mississippi. 

charge of the Hattiesburg postoffice 
September i, 1900. For the fiscal 
>ear ending June, 1901, the gross re- 
ci-'ipts of the office were $10,663.71. 
For the year ending June, 1907, the 
receipts were $43,650.79. In the be- 
ginning it only reqii.r -^ the services 
of Mr. Pitts and one assi:^tant to per- 
form the duties. Now there are em- 
ployed ten clerks and five city carriers, 
and in addition a special delivery boy. 
The office is now in the first class. Th.^. 
growing importance of Hattiesburg 
has been recognized by the United 

has not the depot facilities she deserves. 
The city has four railroads, the New 
Orleans & Northeastern, the Gulf & 
Ship Island, the Mobile, Jackson & 
Kansas City, and the Mississippi Cen- 
tral. A movement is now on foot to 
build a union station, which would cer- 
tainly be the logical and proper thing 
to do. Because of its geographical 
and commercial importance, Hatties- 
burg is entitled to a $500,000 union de- 
pot. It is understood that the most of 
the railroads are favorable to this 
movement, and the citizens certainly 

Digitized by 

Google , 



owe it to their beautiful and growing 
city to insist that it be done. 

But when one turns to the banking 
industry of Hattiesburg the signifi- 
cance of the city's unexampled pros- 
perity and substantial growth become 
apparent. There are four banks, with 
a total capitalization of $675,000, and 
deposits amounting to $2,373,000. The 

a banking capital of $325,000. It has 
a surplus of $125,000, undivided prof- 
its of $39,000, and deposits amounting 
to $1,177,000. I. P. Carter is the presi- 
dent, and F. W. Foote the active vice 
president. Mr. Foote not only pos- 
sesses fine executive and administra- 
tive ability, but is one of Hattiesburgf's 
foremost citizens along all lines of cn- 


following table will show their relative 
standing : 

Banks. Capital. Surplus. Profits. 

1st Nat. $100,000 $ 60,000 $18,000 

T. A B. Co 160,000 14,000 

Cltlxens' B. 100,000 22,562 

Nat. B. of C 325,000 125,000 . 39,000 

All of these banks are magnificently 
housed. The National Bank of Com- 
merce is the strongest banking insti- 
tution in the state of Mississippi, with 

deavor calculated to promote the inter- 
ests of the city. The building in which 
this bank transacts business is very ele- 
gant and ornate. The front is Ro- 
manesque, made of Indiana limestone. 
The bank fixtures are of marble, oxi- 
dized nickel and mahogany. The 
building and its furnishings cost 
$50,000. This great banking in- 
stitution is conducted along liber- 
al lines, and it is a common saying 

Digitized by 





Digitized by 




in Hattiesburg that it has done more 
to promote deserving enterprises, ex- 
tend timely lines of credit and foster 
not only the material, but the ethical 
welfare of the community than any 
similar institution in the state. 

Hattiesburg is in the heart of the 
richest pine belt in the world. Many 
lumber mills are located here and at 
tributary points. It is estimated that 
it will take thirty years to exhaust the 
timber of this section, even at the pres- 
ent rapid rate of consumption. More 

the originator of the "One Piece Felt" 
mattress. This company has its own 
plant for making excelsior from the 
resinous pine that abounds in this sec- 

Of churches, schools, fraternal so- 
cieties and social clubs, Hattiesburg 
is well to the front. The Methodist 
church, now building, is to cost $100,- 
000, and will be the handsomest church 
building in the state. The Hotel Hat- 
tiesburg is a hostelry that is the pride 
of the city. It is a five-story building, 


than three hundred cars of lumber are 
handled tlirough Hattiesburg everyday. 
But the city has many other manufac- 
turing enterprises. They include lum- 
ber, sash, door and blind factories, 
wagon factories, iron foundries, ma- 
chine shops, fertilizer works, denatur- 
ing alcohol plant, bottling works and 
many wood-working establishments. 
The car shops of the Mississippi Cen- 
tral Railway are located here. One of 
the important enterprises is the Dixie 
Mattress Company, that ships its pro- 
ducts all over the country, and that is 

and cost $350,000 to build. It has 
150 rooms, many of them en suite, 
with baths, is elegantly furnished and 
modern in every respect. It is con- 
ducted on the European plan. The 
Hotel Klondyke is a three-story build- 
ing, has seventy-five rooms and enjoys 
a remarkable patronage. 

The South Mississippi infirmary is 
a modern three-story structure, and 
cost $25,000. It is well equipped for 
clinics and as a training school for 
nurses and treats all non-infectious 
diseases. Dr. W. W. Crawford is the 

Digitized by 




president and Dr. B. Lampton Craw- 
ford, secretary and treasurer. 

Hattiesburg has two of the bright- 
est daily newspapers I have yet come 
across. The News is a morning paper. 
It is owned by a stock company, with 
H. A. Camp as president and F. R. 
Birdsall as business manager. Frank 
Hamilton Conoley, who is known from 
the Rio Grande to the Aurora Boreal- 
is, is its versatile city editor. The 
Progress is an afternoon paper. The 
owner is Wm. MoflFtt, Jr., a product 

the spirit of its citizenship, the human 
dynamo, pulsating with life and en- 
ergy, nothing is herein set down, for 
that must be personally felt to be ap- 
preciated. It may be said, however, 
that although Hattiesburg has had a 
wonderfully rapid growth, the city 
possesses every evidence of a perma- 
nent progressiveness. Many years 
from now the timber will be exhaust- 
ed. But there will still remain the 
land. Agriculture is the real source 
of all solid, durable prosperity. At 


of Tennessee newspaperdom. Mr. 
MoflFitt came here about two years 
ago, bought the Progress, a lumbering, 
antiquated sheet, dumped everything, 
put in new material and is now pub- 
lishing an aggressive, influential pa- 
per. Nearly every member of his of- 
fice force is a Tennessean. Indeed, 
there are a good many Tennesseans 
here, which is only further confirma- 
tion of the virile qualities of the citi- 
zens of the Volunteer State. 

This is a fleeting pen sketch of Hat- 
tiesburg*s past and present. But of 

the present rate of increase, which is 
pretty sure to continue, Hattiesburg 
in ten more years will have a popula- 
tion of 40,000 people. By that time 
the Isthmian canal will be completed, 
and this will bring into operation new 
factors that will contribute to tlie con- 
tinued development of southern Mis- 
sissippi. This section will be eight 
hundred miles nearer the outlying 
markets of the world than the Eastern 
seaboard, and about two thousand 
miles nearer than the Pacific slope. 
And Hattiesburg is only seventy miles 

Digitized by 






Digitized by 




from the tangent that takes a straight 
shoot through the Isthmus of Panama. 

Hattiesburg is already an important 
railroad center, and is destined to be 
more so. A preliminary survey has 
been made of the Birmingham & Mis- 
sissippi Southern. This company has 
been incorporated by New Orleans and 
Qiicago- capital to build a line from 
Birmingham via Hattiesburg to Baton 
Rouge, with connections at New Or- 
leans. As all roads formerly led to 
Rome, so will all railroads running 
through this southern belt of country 
wish to tap the growing city of Hat- 

Hattiesburg real estate is a good 
thing to invest in. Many small for- 

tunes have been made in this line with- 
in the past few years. Yet prices are 
not inflated, and there is no wildcat 
speculation. There is simply a steady, 
substantial growth, an expression of 
confidence in a municipality that is le- 
gitimately enlarging its sphere of use- 
fulness because geographically and 
commercially the state' of Mississippi 
requires at this point an entro-point to 
subserve the interests of her people 
and utilize to the best advantage the 
bounties of mother nature. 

For further information regarding 
Hattiesburg it would be well for the 
prospective home-seeker to address 
Mr. C. F. Larson, secretary of the 
Chamber of Commerce. 


By C. F. Cartwright 

I LD BLUE sat bare- 
^ headed in the broil- 
ing July sun, com- 
^ f ortably engaged in 
I burying his feet in 
i the hot, sandy dust 
f and watching it 
!*•• come up in little 
'* glistening heaps be- 
tween the cracks of his toes, and with- 
al chuckling to himself. His high 
spirits were not in the least dampened 
by the fact that the long line of blue 
soldiers trudging down the lane had in 
their midst the last of the live stock 
on his mistress' plantation. Old Blue 
had compensations of his own. 

First among these was the fact that 
the Bluecoats had not gotten all that 
they had come after, for safely hidden 
away in a small secret corner of the 
linen closet, which Old Blue himself 
had prepared, lay his master's friend, 
and, as Old Blue confidently told him- 
self, his young mistress' future hus- 
band, Harry Lester, whose capture 
had been the primary object of the 
unwelcome visitors. 

The second cause of Old Blue's con- 

gratulations was trailing along some 
hundred yards behind the line of sol- 
diers, his old time enemy, Dick, 
"done run oflF to the Yankees." 

Old Blue had hated Dick longer 
than he could remember, for he was 
the only one, outside of his master's 
family, that had dared to dispute his 
authority on the plantation, and he 
now considered that his hate was jus- 
tified in the sight of the Lord, for his 
old enemy had gone the way that so 
many "field niggers" had gone be- 
fore, and had cast his fortunes with 
the enemies of his master. Old Blue 
was pleased with himself, also, for he 
considered himself victor in the war 
of words that had been fought before 
Dick's departure. Dick's tongue had 
always been a boastful one, and his 
final announcement to Old Blue had 
been that **hit ain't gwineter be long 
'fore I's er capt'in, ridin' *roun' on er 
great big horse lack Mr. Ferguson, en 
den I's comin' back an' see who is boss 
ob dis plantashun." 

"Yas, I hopes you is," Old Blue had 
rejoined, running his hand suggestive- 
ly over the piece of willow that he 

Digitized by 




carried as a walking stick, 'lease I 
ain't neber gi'n a Yankee cap'n er 
lickin' yit, but my time's a-comin', hit 
sholy am." 

The inmates of the house, however, 
were not in nearly so congratulatory 
.a frame of mind as Old Blue. He, 
with true negro philosophy, was let- 
ting the troubles of the morrow take 
care of themselves, while Mrs. Pritch- 
ard and her daughter, Lucile, the onfy 
members of the fanjily that had been 
left at home, were already engaged in 
concocting a plan whereby they could 
get their friend safely through the 
Federal lines, for they knew well the 
danger that he ran, uniformed as he 
was (he had on a suit that he had 
captured that was an3rthing but gray), 
and inside the enemy's lines. 

Harry Lester's visit into the ene- 
my's country had not been one of busi- 
ness — ^at least, his captain would not 
have called it such. He had been a 
neighbor and a friend of the Pritch- 
ards for years, and it might be added 
that it was not his fault that he had 
not been something more than a friend 
to one member of the family, and 
when his regiment had camped some 
five miles south of their plantation, 
he had been unable to resist the temp- 
tation of running up to see them, es- 
pecially as he had heard that Mrs. 
Pritchard and Lucile were the only 
ones left at home. 

"I sholy is glad ter see you', Marse 
Harry," Old Blue had declared; when 
he rode up. 'We ain't seed nuffin' but 
Yankees so long dat we mos' forgot 
how our own folks lodes. When hit 
ain't scMne uv dey common sojers rid- 
in' 'roun', hit's Marse Carter er Cap'n 
Ferguson, er some uv de yuther offi- 
cers settin' in de parlor talkin' ter 
Miss Lucile, an' hit's mos'ly Cap'n 
Ferguson, too, suh. I's b'en mouty 
oneasy de las' mont', Marse Harry, 
kase dat ar Cap'n Ferguson, he come 
too of en en he stay too long teh suit 
me, kase we ain't got no room fer 
Yankee blood in our family, we sho 
ain't. But I reckon yo' gwineter put 
er stop ter dat, ain't yo', Marse Har- 



•'Why, Old Blue, if Miss Lucile 

likes to have Captain Ferguson call 
on her, I don't see how I'm going to 
stop it," Lester had replied, not with- 
out an uneasy frown, however. 

"Now, yo' quit yo' foolin', Marse 
Harry," the old negro had exclaimed 
impatiently. "Don' yo' know dat Miss 
Lucile ain't gwine ter fool wid no 
Yankee when dar's a gray coat 'roun', 
en' 'specially when hit's you whut's 
inside dat coat? Des yo' let Old Blue 
manage dis hyar bizness, en' we'se 
gwine ter see ef enny Yankee cap'n 
kin come down hyar en' teck Miss 
Lucile erway frum we all. Hit cayn't 
be done, suh." 

Through some source, however, the 
Federals had gotten notice of Lester's 
presence that night and had been all 
but successful in surprising and cap- 
turing him, so that the principal prob- 
lem that confronted him then was to 
get back to his own regiment with a 
whole skin and a straight neck. This 
feat was made all the harder by the 
fact that the Pritchard plantation lay 
just in the Federal lines, in a strip of 
country that was alternately raided 
by Federal and Confederate, and from 
this guerilla warfare both sides had 
drifted into the practice of dealing 
with any one suspected of being a 
spy in a rather summary manner and 
of considering the evidence later. 

Presently Mrs. Pritchard came to 
the door and Old Blue was called in 
to the consultation within. 

"The first thing is to see how we 
stand," Harry said. "Did they find my 
horse. Old Blue?" 

"No, suh; he's down in de ditch in 
de back fiel'," the negro replied. 

"That being the case, the only way 
I can figure out is for me to stay in 
hiding here until to-night and then 
try to make my way back on the 
horse," Harry suggested, looking 
from one to the other to see if they 
could propose a better plan. 

"Dat's bes'," Old Blue commented, 
"kase hit's er mouty close watch 
whut's gwine ter be kep' on dis hyar 
house teh-day,en'ef dey sees enn)rthing 
whut looks lak er Rebel dey's gwne- 
ter be down hyar lak er swa'm er 

Digitized by 




And so it was arranged. Old Blue 
being stationed as sentind and general 

Tbe evening passed without any dis- 
turbance except an occasicmal alarm 
by Old Blue as a party of soldiers 
would pass the house, at which times 
Harry was hustled away to his cub- 
by hole in the closet, while Mrs. 
Pritchard and Lucile would compose 
themselves to their sewing as best they 
could, and Old Blue industriously at- 
tadced the wood pile, that everytihmg 
might appear as natural as possible. 

Finally darimess fell, the curtains 
were drawn, and Lucile prepared 
supper for the three of them in her 
motiier's room, so as to be near Har- 
ry's hiding-place in case of a sudden 
alarm, it having been decided that it 
was best for him to wait until after 
ten before venturing out. Lucile had 
been so solicitous for Harry's safety 
durii^ the day that he had forgotten 
Old Blue's words of the night before* 
in regard to Captain Ferguson, and 
was enjoying the last hours of her 
company in a peaceful frame of mind 
when the door was suddenly thrown 
open and Old Blue bolted in. "Mis- 
sus, de yard am full uv Yankees, en' 
Cap'n Ferguson, he am dar. Sez he 
am come to call on Miss Lucile. Dis 
way, quick, Marse Harry." 

At the mention of Captain Fergu- 
son's name, Ludle's face whitened. 
"Oh, Harry," she exclaimed, "what 
have I done? I told Captain Fergu- 
son he could call to-night, and — and 
I forgot to tell him not to. What 
shall I do? Oh, oh I" but Old Blue 
had dragged the surprised Harry away 
toward the linen closet. In a few min- 
utes he reappeared, and crouching on 
a low stool at his mistress' feet, began 
in the loud voice of the negro story 
teller: "Yas'm, I seed dat ghost wid 
my own eyes. She was all dressed in 
white, en' she riz right up out'n de 
groun' and 'gun ter glide 'long to'rds 
me, en' dis hyar nigger wus des fixin' 
— why, bless de Lawd, ef dar ain't 
Marse Ferguson ! How yo' do, Marse 
Ferguson? Teck dis hyar seat. I's 
gfwine ter see erbout yo' boss, suh, 
kase he mought slip his bridle out dar 
ef he ain't tied good." 

Old Blue had left the door partly 
ajar, and Captain Ferguson, having^ 
laiocked once or twice without re- 
ceiving an answer, had pushed it open 
and looked in. He was a manly look- 
ing young fellow, of about twenty-six, 
and one to give good cause for Old 
Blue's "oneasiness.'' He spoke to 
Mrs. Pritchard, and then tumiiug to- 
Lucile he noticed her agitation. *^''ou 
aVe ill. Miss Pritchard,'^he exclaimed ; 
"let me get you a glass of \Vc.v:r, or 
perhaps I can send one of my men for 
a doctor. I brought quite a squad 
with me to-night, as there is a rumor 
of a band of Rebels being in this part 
of the coimtry." 

Lucile was about to reply as best 
she could when Old Blue came to- 
the rescue. "Dat des de way she act 
ebery time I tells her dat ghos' story, 
Marse Ferguson," he exclaimed. "I's 
des nachully gwine ter quit tellin' her 
dat story, en' go back ter de tales I 
used ter tell her when she wuz er IW 
baby, 'bout ol' Br'er Rabbit en' Br'er 
Fox. Lenune teck yo' hat, suh." 

Lucile had by this time recovered 
herself sufficiently to support Old 
Blue's story, and the crisis passed. 
The old negro concerned himself to 
such an extent about the wants of his 
guest, and talked so much and so cor- 
dially, however, and this in sudi con- 
trast to his usual air of quiet watch- 
fulness and hostility that Captain Fer- 
guson could not help but take notice of 

"I'm glad to see you feeling so well,. 
Old Blue," he remarked jdcingly. 
"You must have fixed up a plan to 
run us heathen Yankees bade home."' 

"Yas, suh; oh, yas, suh, we sho'' 
gwine ter do dat," Old Blue replied,, 
confidently. "We des waitin' twel we 
gits good en' ready, en' den we gwine 
ter bresh yo'alls clean back under de 
Norf pole." 

"Well, for my part, I don't care how 
soon this war is ended," Captain Fer- 
guson replied. "There are certain 
people that one can't be at war widi,. 
anyhow," he continued, turning to 

Captain Ferguson, wiA the sensi- 
tiveness of all well bred natures,. 
quickly perceived that both Mrs^ 

Digitized by 




Pritchard and Lucile were laboring 
tinder some kind of restraint, and feel- 
ing that in somt unaccountable way he 
was the cause of it, he decided to make 
his call as short as possible. Accord- 
ingly, he gave out some excuse for 
havii^ to be in camp early that night, 
and Old Blue hastened out into the 
hall for his hat The door had hard- 
ly opened, however, when from with- 
out there came a confused babble of 
negro voices, followed by a short scuf- 
fle, and Did:, with Old Blue a close 
second, burst into the room. 

"What does this mean, Dick?" Mrs. 
Pritchard exclaimed, sharply, while 
Old Blue stationed himself where he 
could not be seen by Captain Fergu-- 
son, and began to motion to him to 
keep quiet, seconding these motions 
with threatenmg grimaces of all the 
dire things that were going to happen 
to him if he did not. 

Dick, disr^;arding Old Blue's hand 
telegraphy, looked past Mrs. Pritch- 
ard to Captain Ferguson. "You black 
scotmdrel, what do you mean by com- 
ing into the ladies' presence in this 
manner?*' the Captain demanded. 

"De enemy, suh, he am in dat clos- 
et," Didc began excitedly. "I seed dat 
nigger teck him in dar. He — " 

''Whose enemy, and who the devil 
are you, anyhow?" Ferguson cut in. 

"Me, suh? I's a Union sojer. I 
joined de army ter-day. Marse Harry 
Lester am in dat closet, en' he am er 
Rebel spy, en' hif s my duty ter report 
de fee's ter yo', suh, kase — kase, I's 
gwine ter be er cap'n ef we ketches 
him, suh, an' hit's meh duty." Dick 
rolled the last words with unction, 
casting a triumphant glance at Old 

At the mention of Lester's name, 
Captain Ferguson suddenly imder- 
stood the situation — ^Lucile's agita- 
tion. Old Blue's cordiality and his 
hostess' constraint, were all plain. 
"Mrs. Pritchard," he said, stiffly, "I 
fear that I shall have to search your 
house. God knows I would rather 
have found this man anywhere else 
than here, but it can't be helped now. 
I will call my men." 

With this, he started toward the 

door, but Old Blue was already on his 
knees in front of him, while Ludle) 
with a look of terror, had laid a de- 
taining hand on his arm. Before any- 
thing could be said, however, Harry 
Lester himself appeared from the lin- 
en closet and pished his gun in Fergu- 
son's hands. 

"It won't be necessary to call help. 
Captain," he said. "To oflFer resist- 
ance with your men on the outside 
would only be to cause trouble for my 
friends here. I surrender." 

Ferguson hesitated before accepting 
the proflFered gun. "Mr. Lester," he 
said, "I feel that you should know that 
it is as a spy that you are taken. You 
know the penalty." 

"Certainly," Lester replied, "but I 
see no reason for a struggle that can 
only bring misfortune to my friends, 
and can Imve but one result for me." 

"Then I must call my men," Fergu- 
son responded, "but first I wish to say 
to you and Mrs. Pritchard, and — ^and 
Miss Lucile, that I came here to-night 
on a different errand from this, and 
as God is my witness, I wish as hearti- 
ly as any of you that I had not found 
you here." With this he again turned 
to the door. 

Lester remained motionless. He 
had made his decision and now await- 
ed the results. Lucile attempted to 
detain Ferguson, but he, fearing for 
his own resolution, started abruptly 
for the door, and she seeing that he 
would not listen to her, buried her 
face on her mother's bosom: "Oh, 
mother," she sobbed, "I — I have killed 

Old Blue was the only one who re- 
fused to give up hope. He was still 
kneeling, and when the Captain turned 
from Lucile he found his knees firmly 
grasped by the old negro. 

"Fur de lub uv Jesus, Marse Fer- 
guson!" he cried, "lis'en ter dis hyar 
nigger jes' ha'f er minute. I ain't 
gwine ter keep yo' lone. Marse Fer- 
guson, yo' ain't know whut yo' doin' 
when yo' turns Marse Harry ober ter 
dem sojers. Yo' ain't des kilHn' him, 
yo's killin' young mistis, dar, too. 
Ain't yo' done hear her say dat she 
done iciirm, en' don't yo* know dat 

Digitized by 




she gwine ter think uv dat, twel final- 
ly she gwine ter wish she daid, too? 
Marse Ferguson, she done lak yo' all 
dis time, an' she done lak yo' moughty 
well, too. En' don' yo* kiow dat she 
gwine ter hate yo', gwine ter hate yo' 
des lak er snake ef yo' comes hyar en' 
gits Marse Harry hung? Marse Fer- 
guson, I knows whut yo' come hyar 
fer ter-night. I's been watchin' 
moughty well, en' I knows. Yo' come 
hyar ter ax my mistis ter ma'y yo'. 
Marse Ferguson, Miss Lucile does 
lak yo', but she done lub Marse Har- 
ry. Now, s'posin' yo' gits Marse Har- 
ry killed, en' dat kills Miss Lucile? 
How yo' reckin yo' gwine ter feel? 
Yo' gwine ter feel des lak er muhder- 
er, en' yo' gwine ter be one, too. Den 
Marse Harry ain't no spy, nuther. He 
done rid th'oo yo' lines, 'spectin' 
ebery minute, ter git shot, knowin' 
dat ef he git cotched he gwine ter be 
hung, des fur ter git er sight ob Miss 
Lucile, en' now he gotter hang fer hit. 
Look at dem clo'es he got on. Does 
yo' think he put 'em on ter fool yo'all ? 
No, suh; dat's ebery rag he got ter 
his name, him whut used ter ride 
'roun' hyar wid clo'es ter frow erway. 
I's dressed better'n him, en' he give 
me dese bery clo'es 'fo' he went erway, 
kase dey wa'n't good nuff fer 'im. 
Marse Ferguson, ef yo' got ter hang 
somebody, des teck dis hyar ol' nig- 
ger en' hang him. I's g^ttin' ol', en' 
Marse Harry hyar am young, en' den 
dey ain't nobody gfwine ter miss des 
er po' ol' nigger Isk me. Ef yo'll des 
let Marse Harry go I's gwine ter 
come wid yo' ez quiet ez er lam', en' 
I ain't gwine ter gib yo' no trouble 
'tall, en' I gwine ter pray fer yo', 
Marse Ferguson, en' I gwine ter bless 
yo'. I gwine ter pray fer yo' while 
dey tyin' de knot, en' I gfwine ter bless 
yo' while de rope's tightenin' 'roun' 
my neck. Marse Ferguson, ca)m't yo' 
let dis ol' nigger do dat much fer his 
young mistis?" 

Ferguson had stopped and stood 
looking down at the old negro, but 
when Old Blue ceased speaking, he 
turned to Lucile. "Lucile — Miss 
Pritchard," he corrected himself, "is 

what he sa)rs true? Do you— do 
you — " 

Lucile placed her hand in Harry's. 
"If he escapes I — ^we will be married," 
she stammered. 

"And you, Mr. Lester," Ferguson 
continued. "Will you swear that you 
came through our lines solely for the 
purpose of seeing Miss Lucile, and 
that you will not report anything con- 
cerning our army to your commander 
when you return?' 

"I swear it on my honor as a gen- 
tleman," Lester replied. 

"Then duty be hanged," Ferguson 
exclaimed. "I can't do it. Miss Lu- 
cile," he continued, and if his voice 
trembled there was none present who 
thought him the less manly for it, "if 
I have ever hoped to have my future 
I know how useless such hopes were. 
Allow me to wish you and Mr. Lester 
all the happiness that I know is in 
home brightened by a Southern rose, 
store for you, and then I will say 
good-bye. Old Blue, you have done 
a good night's work to-night. I owe 
you my peace of mind, and your mis- 
tress owes you her husband." 

"Thank ye', suh, thank ye," Old 
Blue responded, once more the polite 

As Ferguson started for the door he 
spied Didk, the candidate for a cap- 
taincy, standing in the opposite cor- 
ner of the room. "I presume you can 
fiimish a night's entertainment for 
our future captain, can't you, Old 
Blue?" he asked. 

"Lawdy, I sho^y kin," Old Blue re- 
sponded, piously, and Ferguson 
walked out into the night 

Mrs. Pritchard collapsed into her 
big chair, while Harry drew Lucile 
down by his side on the little stool. 
Old Blue silently signed to Dick, and 
the two stole out together. 

Presently up from the horse lot 
there came the sound of wailing and 
gnashing of teeth. "I's done quit pin- 
in' ter lay my stick ercross er Yarfcee 
cap'n's back," Old Blue was panting 
between strokes. "De/s er heap too 
good fer Ol' Blue. Jes' er plain, no- 
count nigger is good 'nuff fer me !" 

Digitized by 



By David A. Gates 

I O every Southerner 
who faiows of the 
days JHSt after the 
war there is a pecu- 
liar significance in 
the word "Recon- 
struction." It sug- 
gests gTS,ity violence, 
lawlessness, blood- 
shed, Ku - Klux - 
Klans, marauding militia and carpet- 
bag officials But with all its ugliness 
the reconstruction period was not 
without its amusing incidents connect- 
ed in some way with things govern- 

In the state archives at Little Rock, 
Arkansas, is the record of the trial of 

Judge McG , a carpet-bagger. The 

articles of impeachment charged the 
judge with malfeasance, misfeasance, 
corruption and habitual drunkenness. 
He admitted the truth of the latter 
charge and agreed to resign if the 
other counts were withdrawn. In the 
evidence taken by the legislative com- 
mittee are the two following stories 
which indicate the manner in which 

Judge McG conducted his court: 

A yoimg man charged with horse 
stealing was brought before the court 
He plead guilty, but before sentence 
the defendant's attorney told some- 
thing of the prisoner's history. He 
explained that the young criminal was 
from one of the best families in the 
county; that his mother and father 
were consistent members of the church 
and that the son had received the best 
training. In view of the defendant's 
youth and social environment, leniency 
was asked. The prosecuting attorney 
confirmed the statement of the defend- 
ant's counsel and expressed the hope 

that the court would impose a light 

sentence. Judge McG , who was 

"three sheets in the wind," commanded 
the defendant to stand up. 

"Young man," he asked, "is what 
these gentlemen say of you true?" 

"It is," answered the prisoner. 

"You were brought up by good par- 
ents who always told you it was wrong 
to steal?" 

"Yes, sir." 

"Well, young man," concluded the 
court, "in consideration of your many 
opportunities and advantages this 
court is going to shoot you up for ten 

^ * 1^ 

On another occasion the judge was 
holding court in Columbia county. 
He was "sounding the docket" when 
he stumbled on the case of Solomon 
Rubenstein vs. Andrew Jackson Wash- 

"What is this suit about?" he de- 
manded of one of the attorneys in the 

"It is a suit involving a horse," ex- 
plained the lawyer. 

"Mr. Qerk," commanded his honor, 
turning to the clerk of the court, "enter 
an order dismissing this suit. You 
fellows are mistaken if you think this 
court is going to sit here and Usten to 
a lot of lies in a law suit between a 
thieving negro and a lying Jew over 
a pestle-tailed pony." 

4: 4c 9K 

The story of the election of the 
negro lawyer to the f)osition of judge 
of the municipal court in Chicago and 
the squirming on the part of some of 
his constituents was told in the news- 
papers a few weeks ago. The incident 
was interesting chiefly because it 

Digitized by 




proved that on the race question there 
is no difference between the white man 
North and the white man South. 
Negro judges are acceptable to the 
white man when they have to hold 
court for the other fellow. In many 
sections of the South during the days 
of reconstruction, and for many years 
after, there were negro justices of the 
peace and occasionally a neg^o judge 
of the court. These conditions were 
objectionable but there were humorous 
sides to negro courts and the humor 
furnished some relief to the situation. 
A slave to-day, an American citizen 
to-morrow; a menial to-day, to-mor- 
row presiding over the court in which 
his former master was either lawyer 
or litigant — it was a sudden and not an 
easy change for the negro. Accus- 
tomed to regard his master as superior 
to himself, it took something more 
than legislative enactment to change 
this feeling. When "Ole Marster" ap- 
peared in court the law or the facts, 
whichever was necessary, was found 
in his favor. 

In the early seventies. Colonel 

Charles C , who gained his title in 

the Confederate army, was a lawyer 
and planter in southern Arkansas. All 
the county offices were held by negroes 
and Isaac Wilson, a former slave in 

Colonel C 's family, was a justice 

of the peace. Josiah Whitley, carpet- 
bag member of the legislature, brought 
suit on a note in Wilson's court. The 
note was made by John Saunders, ad- 
ministrator de bonis non of the estate 
of Cyrus Saunders. Whitley repre- 
sented himself and Colonel C 

represented the defendant. Whitley 
proved the execution of the note, the 
possession of it by himself and rested 
on the presumption that it was unpaid. 
The defendant offered no evidence. 
If it could have been proven the de- 
fense was that the note had been sat- 
isfied, but both parties to it had been 
killed in the war and the only way 

whereby Colonel C could hope to 

win his case was "aliunde the rec- 

In his opening address, Whitley ex- 
pressed his opinion that the court, 

'"who was so learned in the law/' could 
do but one thing — give judgment for 
the plaintiff. 

"If the Court pleases,** began Colo- 
nel C , addressing his former slave, 

"the defense to this note is that it has 
been fully satisfied. We have intro- 
duced no witnesses because the lips of 
all who could testify have been sealed 
in death. The maker of this note fell 
before the enemy's breastworks at 
Franklin ; the owner of it went to his 
death under the stars and bars at 
Chickamauga. Their voices are hushed 
forever but this note bears on its face 
evidence that it has been satisfied. 
Read it: *I promise to pay to bearer 
five hundred dollars. John Saunders, 
Administrator, de bonis non.' What 
sort of language is this and what does 
it mean? * Administrator de bonis non' 
is not English, that we know. 'French' 
did counsel say? I have lived here a 
neighbor to our French cousins in 
Louisiana forty years and I never 
heard such language as that fall from 
the lips of a Frenchman. 'Latin?' 
Your Honor will take judicial notice 
that it is not Latin. No, it comes from 
beyond the grave in dead language. 
And what have the heroes of Franklin 
and Chickamauga written into this 
note that some Daniel likeYourHonor 
might interpret? 'Administrator de 
bonis non' translated from Sanscript 
into English means *t-h-i-s n-o-t-e 
h-a-s b-e-e-n p-a-i-d' and man should 
not dispute a message coming from 
the dead." 

Whitley shouted his protest against 
any such "stuff" being read into the 

"Dis cote fin's fur defender," an- 
nounced His Honor. "Ah ain' gwine 
ter projick wid no daid men. En 
fudder mo," he continued, addressing 
Whitley, "dis cote am 'vided in 'is 
'pinion es ter wudder er no 'e orter 
fine de plaintiff fer contemp' er cote 
er sen' 'im ter jail wid'out bail fer 
'spirin' ter rob de daid." 

Another negro justice of the peace 
was holding court in the same county. 
His former master was attorney in the 
case. Both the law and the facts were 

Digitized by 




against "Marse George." The oppos- 
ing counsel made a strong presenta- 
tion of the case, but the court decided 
against him. 

"I propose to appeal to the Circuit 
Court," announced the outraged law- 

His Honor looked to "Marse 
George" for a hint as to what was 
proper to do. This thing of "pealin" 
cases was new to him. "Marse George" 
shook his head, meaning to indicate 
that the losing party could not be pre- 
vented from appealing, but the court 
misconstrued the headshake. 

"Naw, suh," he fired back at the as- 
tonished lawyer who proposed to go 
higher, "yo' cain' do dat, nudder. E^r 
ain' g^ine ter be no 'pealin' ober dis 
Cote's haid." 

•Louis Gregory, a full blooded Afri- 
can, with a head half a yard long, was 
a justice of the peace in Pine Bluff, 
Arkansas. He held court* in the 
Darktown section of the town and 
dealt with a tough element of "coons." 
An all around bad man was brought 
before him on the charge of assault. 
The offense was aggravated and the 
court imposed upon the offender the 
limit in the shape of a fine and gav»* 
him a severe "raking over the coals." 

The bully was afraid to show any 
resentment in open court for Gregory 
had a reputation of jailing for con- 
tempt those who took exception to his 
lectures. But court adjourned and 
"his honor" became for the time be- 
ing a private citizen. In the full en- 
joyment of a few moments of rest 
from his judicial labors and with de- 
liberation, public care, etc., deeply en- 
graven on his brow, Gregory was 
strolling along one of Darktown's 
thorou^fares when he met the bully 
he had lectured. 

"Now, Mistah Griggory, yo 'suited 
me 'case yo' had me whar Ah could'n 
he'p merse'f, 'n now um gwineterwipe 
up dc 3rcath wid ye; jes git yo'se'f 
riddy fer er frailin'," said the cham- 
{Mon of Darktown, drawing off his 
coat and winding himself up for a 
swing at Gregory's long head. 

Some lawyer had vouchsafed to 
Gregory the information that the court 
of a justice of the peace was always 
open and it stood him well in hand 
now that he remembered this. Quick 
as a flash off went his hat with the an- 
nouncement : 

"De jestice cote er Vaugine town- 
ship, Jefferson county, Arkansas, am 
now open pursuin' ter erjoumment 
an' am riddy for de transakshun uv 
any bizness, whutever may come be- 
fo' it. Now hit me I Now hit me!" 
he dared. 

"You know Mistah Griggory, Ah 
wuz jes' er projickin' wid you," said 
the bully, all of the fight scared out of 

"Huh, projickin', wuz ye?" retorted 
His Honor. "Mebbe yo' wuz, but hit 
'peared to dis cote dat yo' wuz 
a-honin' fer trouble. De Cote will let 
yo' go dis time but don' yo' projick 
wid de state uv Arkansas no mo." 
« « « 

In a backwoods township of a 
"Blackbelt" county in South Arkansas, 
Squire Harrison, an old time negro, 
sat in judgment on the small con- 
troversies of a population that was 
ninety per cent black. Among the 
files at the court house is the transcript 
of the proceedings before 'Squire 
Harrison in a case brought to the cir- 
cuit court on appeal. The transcript, 
which was written by a negro with 
some education, went into the minutest 
detail. It told how the case was called, 
the parties announced themselves 
ready for trial and how the trial pro- 
gressed to the conclusion of the 
"charge" by the court. After the 
charge, the jury, according to the 
transcript, deliberated for hours but 
failed to agree and then came into 
open court and announced that it could 
not agree upon a verdict because Nick 
Manley, one of the jurors, would not 
agree with the other eleven. "Where- 
upon and wherefore" the transcript 
faithfully recorded, "the said Nick 
Manley was removed from the jury 
and the constable, who would agree 
upon a verdict, was placed thereon." 

Digitized by 




A City of Parks. (Illustrated.) J. K. Collins 526 

A Famous Will Against Time. (Illustrated.) Emma Look Scott 326 

A Nation's Nativity. (Illustrated.) Moncure Lyne 56 

A Practical Solution of the Race Problem. Gen. R. D. Johnston ' 277 

A True Analysis of the Human Voice. Carl Young 678 

A Visit to the Bedouins. (Illustrated.) Homer Davenport 514 

A Visit to Wonder Cave. (Illustrated.) T. M. Johns 578 

.Alcoholism in Its New Role. David A. Gates 550 

.\pRiL IN the Annals of Our Country. Susie Gentry 83 

.\s I (jO. Horatio Lankford King 186 

Battijeships and Cruisers of the United States Navy. (Series of Illustrations.) . . 608 

Books and Authors. Lillian Kendrick Byrn 103, 225, 335, 443, 613, 737 

Captain Bill McDonald, of Texas.. (Illustrated.) W. D. Hornaday 24 

Chattanooga, Tennessee. (Illustrated.) W. O. Thomas and H. M. Wiltze 735^ 

Confederate Soldiers' Home, Nashville, Tennessee (Illustrated.) 114 

David Glasgow Farragut. Robert L. Taylor 347 

Davy Crockett. Robert L. Taylor '. 505 

Florida Scenes. ( Series of Illustrations.) ' 42^ 

Fragments. Bert Finck 513 

Historic Highways of the South. John Trotwood Moore. 

(Continued from Volume IV.) 

XIX— The Stone Grave People of Tennessee. (Illustrated.) 3 

XX— The Hermitage As It Is To-Day. (Illustrated.) 137 

XXI— The Scout Trail of Sam Davis. (Illustrated.) 293 

XXII — The Trail of the King's Mountain Men. (Illustrated.) 390 

XXIII— The Trail of the King's Mountain Men — Concluded. (Illustrated.).. 535 

XXIV— Chickamauga. (Illustrated.) 71^ 

History of the Hals. John Trotwood Moore. 

(Continued from Volume IV.) 

XIX— Hait's Coons 84 

XX — Edward F. Geers, the Great Driver of the Hals. (Illustrated.) 196 

XXI — Star Pointer. (Illustrated.) 251 

Industrial Education in the South. 

Southern School of Photography. Lillian Kendrick Byrn 382 

Winthrop Normal and Industrial School. Aquila Craig Glenn 67^ 

Southern Industrial Educational Association. Martha S. Gielow 67 

Jefferson Davis. . (Illustrated.) Robert L. Taylor 229 

Little Citizens of the South. . (Portraits.) 31, 312, 532 

Men of Affairs. . (Illustrated.) 47. 150, 261, 368, 523, 71^ 

April — Wm. G. McAdoo, Carle J. Blenner, Wm. Allen Blair, Dr. Clarence K. 

Crawford, Rev. Charles R. Brown. 
May — Wm. J. Oliver, H. S. Houston, Enrique C. Creel, Dr. Wm. M. Polk, 

W. I. Thomas. 
June — T. M. Campbell, W. W. Finley, James Newton Baskett, Geo. N. Coffey, 

Fletcher R. Harris. 
July — Jno. M. Culp, Dr. J. H. Claiborne, John Cecil Clay, Dr. E. R. Corson, 

Andrew R. Blakely. 
August — J. T. Harahan, Samuel Untermeyer, W. J. Armfield. 
September — John Henry Kirk, J. W. Fountain, Richard Lee Feam, Julian 
Harris, R. G. Waterhouse. 

Modern Lumbering. ( Illustrated.) Waldon Fawcett 270 

Napoleon. (Continued from Vol. IV.) Anna Erwin Woods. 

Part VIII— Napoleon III. (Illustrated.) 99 

Nashville : A City of Opportunity. (Illustrated.) W. O. Thomas 445 

National Soldiers' Home, Hampton, Va. (Illustrated.) 114 

Patrick Henry. (Illustrated.) Robert L. Taylor 116 

Digitized by 



Philosophical Points. Wm. J. Burtscher 29 

Points of Historic Interest in Virginia. (Illustrated.) 358 

Red Hill, the Last Residence of Patrick Henry. (Illustrated.) Samuel H. Miller. . 120 

Richard Mansfield and His Art. (Illustrated.) Lillian Kendrick Bym. 157 

Richmond Pearson Hobson on the Japanese Question 127 

Scenes at Newport News, Va. (Illustrated.) * ' 378 

Senator Tiixman and the Negro Question * 61 

.Some Beautiful Southern Homes. (Illustrated.) 311 

Some Beautiful Women of the South. (Portraits.) 132, 360, 667 

"Soift of the Mountains." (Frontispiece.) 346 

Son of the Mountains. Julian Bouchelle 404 

Springfield and Robertson County, Tennessee.. (Illustrated.) W. O. Thomas 615 

The American Boy. (Frontispiece.) 228 

The American Eagle : How It Came into Existence, and the Number Thirteen. 

Susie Gentry 415 

The Basic Principles of the Negro Question. Van Leer Polk 693 

The Hobson Idea. Lillian Kendrick Bym 656 

The Human Voice. Carl Young 207 

The Mocking Bird and the Poets. Albert V. Goodpasture 167 

The New House. (Illustrated.) F. W. Fitzpatrick 247 

The Oldest Church on the American Continent. (Illustrated.) George F. Paul.. 508 

The Origin of the Stars and Stripes. (Illustrated.) Alec Bruce 352 

The South and the Ship. William Wallace Bates 281 

1 HE University of North Carolina. (Illustrated.) Aquila Craig Glenn 243 

Theodore O'Hara. (Illustrated.) Kate Alma Orgain 267 

Thomas Jefferson. ( Portrait.) Robert L. Taylor 35 

Uncle Sam's Camels. (Illustrated.) Adrian Listina 301 

Waco, Texas. (Illustrated.) 339 

When and Where the Flag Was Christened "Old Glory." (Illustrated.) 

Emma Look Scott * 354 

WrrH Our Editors 90, 210, 316, 433, 592, 729 

WrrH Our Readers '. loS, 221, 329, 439, 604, 733 

Zachary Taylor. ( Illustrated.) Robert L. Taylor 640 


A Creedless Baptism. Jennie Thomas Buchanan 409 

Anne : Her Diary. Kate Trimble Sharber , 70, 236, 546, 701 

Bill Davis' Ascension. Hugh K. Aiken 183 

Conquerors of the Wilderness. (Serial Story.) Anna Erwin Woods.. 176, 285, 563, 705 

Cupid Interrupts. A. Maria Crawford 163 

Doorways of Dunvegan. Thomwell Jacobs 87, 188 

How Uncle Mose Plead Not Guilty. (Illustrated.) E. C. Sawyer 155 

How Old Wash Captured a Buck : . . 405 

How Old Wash Converted Phosphate Ike 573 

Jim's Dairy Morals. Rosa Burwell Todd 39 

Poisoned Salads. Will Levington Comfort 129 

Sfraphtta's Dog Pose. Garnet Noel Wiley 19 

The Auto Fool. Horatio Lankford King ' 395 

The Business End of It. Montgomery F. Essig 491 

The Girl and the Absent-Minded Man. Horatio Lankford King 682 

The Girl of the Yellow Braided Dress. Robert Wilson Neal 372 

The Lost Chord.. (Illustrated.) Medora Jones 255 

The Measure of a Man. John Trotwood Moore 51 

(Concluded from Volume IV.) 

The Night Riders. (Serial Story.) Henry Cleveland Wood 556, 644 

The Mystery of Milk Sic^ Mountain. John Trotwood Moore 629 

The Singing Master. Julia Bonita Searson 580 

The Smile of the Jade. Montgomery F. Essig 416 

The Imitator. T. S. Stribling 192 

Their Own Petard. Troy Allison 173 

The Thraix of the Green. Thomas Sigismund Stribling 422 

1 HE White Hour. Margaret C. Hobson 567 

Uncle Abel and the Flood at Memphis. Berenice Feam Young 374 

Uncle Abraham's Sermon : The Vision. John Marshall Kelly 6oi 

Digitized by 




American Boy Hymn. Witt Bowdcn 266 

A Northern Rose. John Trotwood Moore 324 

Eastertide. Maic Williams Sperry 69 

EsTELLA May. (Illustrated.) Cora A. Matson Dolson 185 

Evening. Virginia Craig 576 

For April's Coming. Hilton R. Greer 30 

"Here." Ruth Raymond 115 

J AiRUs' Daughter: An Easter Poem. (Illustrated.) John Trotwood Moore 44 

June. Maie Williams Sperry 260 

King Aldebrand. (Illustrated.) John Trotwood Moore 365 

My Crown of Life. C. H. Buchanan 377 

Old Glory. (Illustrated.) John Trotwood Moore 64 

The I-over's Song. Nanita MacDonell 607 

The Race of the Rebel. John Trotwood Moore 544 

'Ihe Soul's Awakening. (Illustrated.) Ruth Bissell Ebright 81 

The Wanderlust. John Niendorff 241 

Wayi^id. Jake H. Harrison 172 

Whay Say the Beeches ? John Trotwood Moore 627 

When Summer Died. Helen T. Diclcinson 832 

The Family Scrap Book no, 218, 333, 426, 610, 735 

A Health. Edward Coate Pinckney 334 

Clancy of the Overflow. Anonymous 220 

Columbus. Joaquin Miller 427 

Cupid As a Guest. Bourne's Translation from Anacreon 611 

Ethel. Edwin W. Fuller 612 

Evelyn Hope. Robert Browning 610 

"If I Didn't Forget How Old I Wuz." Anonjrmous 112 

In the Matter of Rest. Judge Bleckley 220 

Israfel. Edgar Allen Foe 110 

Little. Giffin of Tennessee. H. O. Tickner 426 

Love. Christina Rossetti 612 

My Ambition. Ellen Palmer Alberton 611 

Ode to a Greoan Urn. John Keats , 428 

O Captain, My Captain. Walt Whitman 333 

Recollections of Love. S. T. Coleridge 112 

Shall We Live Again ? Victor Hugo 427 

"Sunset" Cox's Sunset Piece 219 

The Ballot. John Pierpont 1 12 

The Blue and the Gray. Francis Miles Finch 218 

The Every-Day Darling. Anonymous 333 

The Faithless Mountain Stream. Anonymous 334 

The Humming Bird. Audubon 335 

The Last Leaf. O. W. Holmes 219 

The Moneyless Man. Henry T. Stanton 426 

The Mystery of Cro-a-Tan, 1587 A. D. Margaret J. Preston no 

The Violet. Walter Scott no 

To Mary. Francis Fontaine 611 

Truthful James. F. Bret Harte 610 

Digitized by 



The Massachusetts Squab Co., Box 878, 
Whitman, Mass., are offering bargains in 

The True-Tagg Paint Co. are offering 
he most durable floor paint on the market, 
nade in nine beautiful colors. Any 10- 
rear-old child can apply it 

The Dixie Artificial Limb Co., whose 
lisplay ad appears on another page, agree 
to give an absolute guarantee to any one 
fiho needs an artificial limb. 

The Peck- Williamson Co., 366 W. Fifth 
St., Qndnnati, Ohio, ask for an oppor- 
tunity to prove to you that their Underfeed 
Furnace saves one-half to two-thirds on 
coal bills. In time of warmth prepare for 
cold. Write them. 

A new department, the School of Expres- 
sion, has been added to Vanderbilt Uni- 
versity. This is thought to be the only 
established school of expression below 
Mason and Dixon's line. The interest de- 
veloped in it already warrants the belief 
that its growth will be rapid under the 
management of that great master, Prof. 
Albert Mason Harris. 

There is no better shoe for men on the 
Southern market than the "Big 4 Line" put 
o«t by the J. G. Hynds Shoe Manufactur- 
ing Company, of Nashville. This company 
has covered the Southern States with 
hustling salesmen, and the demand in that 
territory for this particular brand of foot- 
gear is enormous. It has been said by 
toany that "when once a Hynds shoe is 
worn, no other will satisfy." We take 
pleasure in calling your attention to this 

company's advertisement on the page oppo- 
site the Table of Contents. 

The department store of OTarrall Bros., 
Hattiesburg, Mississippi, is the largest es- 
tablishment of the kind in south Mississippi. 
The firm has just added another floor to ac- 
commodate their growing business. Cour- 
teous dealing and enterprising business 
methods have contributed to place them in 
the van of the mercantile procession in this 


Having read of many lucky experiences 
in Mexican mines, I visited Oaxaca to see 
for myself. The richness of their mines 
is certainly wonderful. The thousands of- 
tons of rich ore, visible in so many mines, 
will give any person the gold fever who 
visits that district. I had no idea of invest- 
ing when I visited Mexico, but I bought 
3,000 shares in the Zavaleta and Soledad 
mines, and have already been offered twice 
what I paid for my stock. A friend who 
invested $30 sold his stock in less than 
three months for $150. Don't invest in a 
prospect, even if the stock is cheap, unless 
you expect to lose. Invest in a mine where 
at least 5,000 feet of work has been done 
and not less than 20,000 tons of ore sold 
at a fair profit. In such a mine you are 
sure to make money. For safe advice re- 
garding Mexican mines address the Pitts- 
burg-Oaxaca Mining Co., Block 712, Pitts- 
burg, Pa. You can rely on their state- 
ments and can make money quick and sure. 

James Mack. 

We call the reader's attention to the lib- 
eral offer of Draughon's Business College 
on the page opposite the frontispiece. This 
is one of the most liberal offers ever made 

Digitized by 



by any business college. If you are think- 
ing of fitting yourself for a business ca- 
reer, read their advertisement. There are 
now thirty Draughon's Colleges in opera- 
tion, Prof. Jno. F. Draughon, President of 
Draughon's Practical Business College Co.. 
having recently returned from Washington, 
D. C, where he purchased the Spencerian 
Business College. Professor Draughon has 
placed able men at the head of his Wash- 
ington College, and it will be conducted on 
the high plane occupied by all the other 
Draughon Colleges. 

The first ad in this issue is that of the 
W. W. Ford Tobacco Works. It is printed 
in three colors and is very attractive, but 
does not rank in attractiveness to the of- 
fer made therein to pipe smokers. The W. 
W. Ford Tobacco Works is one of the best- 
known firms of the kind in the United 
States, and one that the tobacco trust has 
not been able to lay its hands on. "Ford's 
Twist" and "Old Confed Smbking To- 
bicco" are two of the most famous brands 
on the American market, and no other can 
supplant them where once they have been 
used. It is an independent concern, and 
no other factory has been able to duplicate 
the high-grade tobacco put out by it. The 
W. W. Ford Tobacco Works has made it a 
point to keep all its brands up to their origi- 
nal high standard. Herein lies the secret 
of its success. Users of this tobacco will 
not give it up, for they have come to rely 

on it, knowing there will be no change in its 


has just been issued by the Morse Inter- 
national Agency, whose reputation in the 
advertising field is world wide. It is a 
standard work of reference, indispensable 
to advertisers large and small, and as im- 
portant to the buyer of space as a "price 
current" is to a buyer of goods. If any 
evidence were needed that this work has 
permanently taken the lead in its class, it 
will be found in the fact that the Morse 
International Agency has received a vtry 
large number of commendatory letters from 
the leading advertisers both in the United 
States and Europe. 

Not the least of its important features 
is its condensed form. It may be carried 
with ease in the pocket, and as such com- 
mends itself to every traveling salesman, 
who contracts for advertising in the towns 
along his route. It is thoroughly up-to- 
date and in addition to the general list of 
Daily and Weekly newspapers, are special 
lists of class publications grouped under 
the following heads: Magazines, Medical 
Journals, Agricultural and Religious papers 
and those in foreign languages. 

It may be obtained from the publishers- 
Morse International Agency, 19 West 34th 
Street, New York, on receipt of the price, 


H I N 


cored in ten dajs by our painless method. Unoonditional guarantee 
given to cure or no charge. Money can be placed in bank and pay- 
ment made after a cure i«i realized. 85 rooms equipped as flrst-cla<« 
hotel. Patients who cannot visit Fanitarium can be cured at borne- 
References : Any county or city official, any bank or oitisen of Leba- 
nod. Large booklet sent free. Address 



3.000 Famous Books by Famous Authors, SOc ea. Hunter A Co.,'*"''^'"*''''^ ' 

, ■ ■ ■ 

In writing to advertisers please mention the Taylor - Trotxoood Maga»ine 

Digitized by 


Digitized by 


Painting by M. L. McComh miU Derr rode onward unflinchincly 

The Night Riden, (Page 174) 

Digitized by 





NO. 2 



tific world. Those who visit the Isth- 
mus of Panama to-day will be im- 
pressed with the perfection of the sani- 
tary organization, which was success- 
fully designed to maintain such con- 
ditions of wholesome living, that the 
efficiency of the canal laborers would 
be assured. 

A casual glance at the Isthmus 
will convince any one that every 
element of nature conduces to vicious- 
ness and disease. Approaching the 
dty of Colon from the Atlantic, 
Front street seems to be so near 
the level of the ocean that no drainage 
is possible, and then the swamps in 

jt Cawcroft 

the rear of the town were fragrant 
with disease germs. It is in this con- 
nection that it must be borne in mind 
that there is an annual rainfall of four- 
teen feet on the Isthmus, and the 
average is produced by a torrential 
down-pour during certain months of 
the year. Vegetation is very thick and 
the growth of recently destroyed 
bushes excites the wonder of the tour- 
ist. Added to the extent of the jun- 
gle and the rainfall is the tendency of 
the natives to neglect the ordinary 
sanitary precautions and the common 
essentials of health. When the Ameri- 
can Government finally decided to con- 
struct a canal across the Isthmus of 
Panama, it was confronted with the 
necessity of sewering the commtmities 
along the entire strip, destroying the 
tropical jungle, draining the swamps, 
constructing reservoirs and doing the 
thousand and one things which are 
essential to the health of the modern- 
ized city. It was necessary to accom- 
plish these improvements in the short 
space of four years and over a strip 
of land forty-five miles in length with 
a width of five miles. Sanitary juris- 
diction over the cities of Colon and 
Panama was given the Zone Depart- 
ment by treaty arrangement, and the 
officials undertook the task of sewer- 
ing, paving and cleaning those pest- 
ridden communities. Let those who 
are content to remain in their homes 

Digitized by 




amidst the mild climate of the North ; 
let those who are given more to criti- 
cism than to designing" of constructive 
remedies, consider how difficult it has 
been to create sufficient public spirit 
to induce many of the smaller com- 
munities of this country to install mod- 
em sanitation; and then remember 
that what has been so difficult of ac- 
complishment in the former was neces- 
sary in twelve or more communities 
located along this fifty-mile strip. Thar 
these things have been done, and suc- 
cessfully done, amidst the retarding in- 
fluence of natural ccmditions and the 

of his Suez victory, that De Lesseps 
landed at Colon prepared to master the 
Isthmus situation from the standpoint 
of the engineer and promoter. Unr 
mindful of the fact that one dead man 
is claimed for every tie placed on the 
Panama Railroad, and despite the 
knowledge that the sailors of the world 
dreaded old Aspinwall as they would 
the fires of hell, De Lesseps planned to 
plunge into the tropical jungle with 
the same vigor and disregard of de- 
tails which had characterized his op- 
erations in Southern Europe and the 
East. He secured the native, accli- 


degeneracy of the native population, 
doubles the honor that should be ac- 
corded to the men who initiated this 

The French neglected these sanitary 
essentials in coming to the Isthmus, 
and their tragic record was written in 
blood within a few years. History 
records, as the manipulated newspa- 
pers of that day failed to report, that 
three hundred thousand Egyptians 
perished under De Lesseps during the 
construction of the Suez Canal. It was 
with the same wanton willingness to 
sacrifice human life in order to achieve 
his engineering ends and in the flush 

mated black man from Jamaica and 
other islands of the West Indies; he 
brought Chinese over by the ship load, 
and in Southern Spain and Italy he 
found laborers willing to go on an ad- 
venture, ready to undertake the work 
of canal digging under the keen di- 
rection of the best engineers of the 
Continent. But with all his engineer- 
ing organization and because of his 
neglect of sanitation, De Lesseps 
failed. Poor food, bad water, hun- 
dred-year-old swamps, lack of sew- 
ers, the vicious, imcaught mos- 
quito, yellow jack and small-pox, com- 
bined to discourage or kill large num- 

Digitized by V^OOQlC' 


bers, and at the same time tended to 
render ineflScient those who managed 
to survive. Then it was that a regi- 
ment of the stolid Chinese marched 
from Matachin to the Chagjes River 
banks, there to find suicides' graven; 
here it was that the Jamaica laborer 
was so abused or allowed to perish that 
the protecting arm of the Colonial 
Government will not allow the Ameri- 
can Commission to have such labor 
unless a deposit is made to assure the 
immediate return of the men when so 
desired or when deemed advisable. 
These were the natural and artificial 
conditions that American physicians 
were compelled to master — ^those were 
thr necessary achievements, while the 
natives, discouraged and abused by the 
previous French contractors, prophe- 
sied that the Yankee efforts were hope- 
less, and then did their part to make 
such endeavors futile, by their lethargy 
and inefficiency. 

The visitor to the Isthmus of Pana- 
ma is impressed with the extent of the 
American sanitary jurisdiction at the 
outset. There are many arriving at 
Colon who believe that their vaccina- 
tion wound is sufficiently recent to re- 
lieve them of the operation ; but what- 
ever we may think of the theory or 
results of vaccination, it must be ad- 
mitted that the Isthmian sanitary of- 
ficials are impartial in their adminis- 
tration of cow-pox. There are no 
favorites in the administration of the 
Sanitary Department of the Isthmian, 
Commission and Congressmen as well 
as steam-shovel men are accorded the 
same treatment in the name of the gen- 
eral welfare. The vaccination occurs 
before the passenger is allowed to 
place his baggage before the custom 
officers on the Colon docks for exami- 
nation, and care is taken to see that 
the wound is dry before the incomer 
is allowed to unroll his sleeve. Arriv- 
ing on the docks, he finds a boy dis- 
tributing leaflets in several languages, 
signed by Dr. Gorgas and containing 
the following wholesome advice: 

"This circular is handed to each new 
arrival on the Isthmus for the purpose 
of instruction as to how to avoid the 

disease most prevalent in Panama and 
the Canal Zone — malaria. Its cause is 
now well known and each one, with 
a little care, can do a great deal to- 
ward keeping free from this disease. 

"It has been proven that malaria is 
only given to man by the bite of a fe- 
male mosquito of a certain species 
(Anapholes). This female mosquito 
must always bite some human being 
suffering from malaria before she can 
become infected. In biting, she draws 
blood from the person suffering from 
malaria and in the blood thus drawn, 
she takes in the malarial parasite. 
Within a few days this parasite in- 
fects the mosquito herself, and when 
she next bites a well person she in- 
jects her spittle into the bitten place. 
In this spittle the malarial parasite is 
injected and thus the healthy person 
contracts the disease. 

"Now, if every one would use the 
mosquito bar, so arranged that no mos- 
quitoes would get into the bar at night,, 
much protection would be secured 
from this disease; for, while it may 
be contracted during the day time, it 
is not likely to be. Probably nine- 
tenths of the malarial cases contract 
the disease during sleep, because the 
malarial mosquito is a night biter and 
the person is quiet at this time. 

"Absolute protection from mosquito 
bites is impossible; but it is known 
that quinine is a deadly poison to the 
malarial parasite after it gets into the 
blood of a human being. If, there- 
fore, every one would take three grains 
of quinine, once a day, any malarial 
parasite that has been introduced dur- 
ing the day would almost certainly be 
killed. The best time probably to take 
quinine is before going to bed at 

The secondary problem presented to 
those who desired to organize the ex- 
isting force of thirty-five thousand men 
into an army of efficient canal builders 
was the construction of a chain of new 
communities across the Isthmus. 
Throughout the interior of the Isth- 
mus, the native villages huddle along 
the banks of the disease-giving 
Chagres River; and a glance at the 

Digitized by 




straw huts comprising those settle- 
ments, having no means of drainage 
but the natural sluice ways of the 
streets of dirt, was sufficient to con- 
vince the inspectors that a white man 
from the North could not remain 
healthy in such an environment. There 
was but one thing to do, then, and that 
was to create a series of new towns on 
the higher ground of the interior. As 
a matter of course, the town sites must 
be adjacent to the pivotal points of 
canal construction; and in conse- 
quence, from Bas Obispo through 
Empire and Culebra to Paraiso, the 

man is entitled to one square foot of 
bed room for every gold dollar he 
receives as wages during a month. In 
addition, the Commission encourages 
domesticity by furnishing a house for 
the married man who brings his fami- 
ly to the Isthmus, together with fire- 
wood, ice and light at cost. Every 
family house is thoroughly screened, 
provided with netting for the beds, and 
a force of inspectors is employed to 
discover and repair any breaks in the 
wire screening. Both the apartments 
and married quarters are provided with 
adequate shower baths in order to ena- 


surrounding hills above the cuts have 
been made the camping grounds of 
the army of white canal employees. 
The observer notices at these and other 
centers where the work is under way, 
the typical square-constructed houses 
with double storied verandas. These 
verandas are completely screened, and 
they serve the double purpose of pro- 
viding a covered, cool sitting-room for 
the canal employees after working 
hours and tend to protect the walls 
of the sleeping rooms from the ex- 
treme heat of the tropical day. Apart- 
ments are provided for the unmarried 
men and in theory at least every white 

ble everyone to comply with the gen- 
eral instruction to bathe and make a 
change of clothing at sundown. 

Those unon whom the responsibility 
was placed of upbuilding the physical 
stamina of the canal diggers realized 
at once that -good air and water, whole- 
some apartments and food, must be 
made the foundation of health. They 
appreciated the fact that as these 
things aided in the maintenance of 
vigorous constitutions they were more 
to be desired than the preventive 
means involving the use of quinine and 
cow-pox. Prior to the commencement 
of engineering operations, it was 

Digitized by 



necessary to feed the white employees 
in mess-houses, after the manner of 
the culinary methods employed on 
Western railroad cuts ; and experience 
having demonstrated that such is the 
only possible system, even conceding 
the many faults, it has been continued 
during tiie succeeding years. Having 
solved the problem of water, housing 
and sanitation, the responsible oflScers 
have experienced more difficulty in 
handling the food problem than any 
other feature of canal life. While 
there are those who urge particular 
systems of diet for the men of the 

throughout the Canal Zone regarding 
food than as to any other condition, 
the defects must be credited more to 
the inefficiency of alleged cooks, than 
to a continued lack in the quantity or 
quality of the supplies. It appears that 
the Commission realizes" the nature of 
this complaint, and a vigorous effort 
is being made to eliminate this last ob- 
jection to the prevalence of wholesome 
living on the Isthmus. Whites and 
blacks are, of course, provided for in 
separate mess-houses ; and it has been 
deemed wise, if not in fact necessary, 
to attempt, in so far as possible, to pro- 


colder North sojourning in the Trop- 
ics, it has been found that the meat and 
vegetables commonly fotmd on the ta- 
bles of the United States are the only 
articles of diet which afford satisfac- 
tion to the men. Food is shipped in 
large quantities from this country to 
the Isthmus; and the Government 
plans to place a wholesome meal be- 
fore the men at the bare cost of pur- 
chasing the food at wholesale prices, 
which is estimated at thirty cents a 
meal. The menu is similar to that fur- 
ni^ed in the middle class hotels of 
the cities of the United States; and 
while there are more complaints heard 

vide each nationality or class of canal 
laborers with food similar to that used 
at home. It. is safe to say that a larger 
quantity of food is allowed each for- 
eigner than he has been accustomed to 
at home, and that makes for increased 
vigor in the workers. The Jamaica 
negroes were allowed for a considera- 
ble time to prepare their own foods; 
but the black men from the outskirts 
of Kingston were so bent upon sav- 
ing every piece of silver for the rainy 
day when they must return to the 
small wages of their home, and at the 
expense of their stomachs, that disease 
was increasing, and whatever efficiency 

Digitized by 




they possessed was becoming impaired. 
The Government was forced to reme- 
dy this situation by insisting that every 
laborer must mess at the Commission 
houses ; to that end the food is similar, 
in so far as possible, to that enjoyed 
by the particular laborers in their home 
countries ; and for supplying and pre- 
paring the food the Jamaica laborers 
are charged ten cents a meal. Since 
the inauguration of this government 
mess, the tendency to the Jamaica ne- 
groes to become ill because of inade- 
quate nourishment, or perish in the 
wake of diseases of a weakened con- 

rate of forty cents a day, will be of in- 
terest : 

Breakfast : ham, one- fourth pound ; 
bread, one-half pound; potatoes, one- 
half pound; coffee. 

Dinner: soup; fresh meat, one-half 
pound; garbanzas (peas), one-fourth 
pound ; beans, one- fourth pound ; po- 
tatoes, one-half pound ; macaroni, one- 
twelfth pound ; bread, one-half pound ; 

Supper : soup ; stewed beef, one-half 
pound ; garbanzas, one-fourth pound : 
potatoes, one-half pound; rice and 
beans ; dessert ; bread, one-half pound ; 


stitution, has markedly decreased and 
the efficiency of the black men as canal 
diggers has been increased. 

Those who have seen the Jamaican 
mammies on their native heath pre- 
paring the family meal in an open 
urn may imagine with what relish the 
canal diggers from that island attack 
a home-like menu of fried fish and 
yams and hominy and coffee. 

A large force of Gallegos from 
Spain is now employed on the Isth- 
mus ; and as those men have the repu- 
tation of being hearty eaters and vigor- 
ous workers, the distinctive meals 
which the Commission provides at the 

coffee. The dessert consists of prunes, 
apple sauce or other stewed fruit, and 
the meals are prepared by Gallego 

The experience of the sanitary offi- 
cials in the conduct of affairs on the 
Isthmus demonstrates that the intelli- 
gent attention given to health by the 
Northern white man is a better protec- 
tion to his constitution than is afforded 
to that of the black man through natu- 
ral acclimation. Conditions have thus 
become so relatively wholesome on the 
Isthmus that a high-waged American 
is warranted in taking his family with 
him to Panama. When the mechanics 

Digitized by 



and steam-shovel men have their wives 
to cook the food and care for the 
household, many of the problems now 
confronting- the canal officials will be 
solved. It has been found that men 
who have their 'own households are 
far more inunune from tropical dis- 
eases and vexations; and it is a fact 
that the American schoolboys and 
girls who are living on thd Isthmus 
with their parents are healthier than 
the children of colored parents. Un- 
like the black man, the white man 
takes his daily shower after his day's 
work is completed ; he does not punc- 
ture holes in the screens provided to 
prevent the ravages of the mosquito; 
and his intelligent attention to physi- 
cal well-being assures for himself and 
family greater freedom from tropical 
diseases than nature extends to the 
tainted natives. What may be the ul- 
timate eflFect even upon vigorous con- 
stitutions from continued work in the 
tropics is a matter for consideration 
elsewhere; but certainly, in view of 
the fact that the stringent examina- 
tions permit no one but exceptionally 
strong workers to depart for the Canal 
Zone, the r-esults visible within the 
decade following the return of the 
army of canal diggers will settle this 
disputed question for all time. 

The wisdctfn of this theory that the 
control of the sanitation, housing and 
feeding of the canal employees was 
necessary to their healthy efficiency, is 
proved by the statistical results. The 
department has used diplomacy or 
force, as each may have been neces- 
sary, to fumigate, cleanse and render 
habitable the Isthmus. And to-day, 
what are the visible results? There 
has not been a case of yellow fever on 
the Isthmus in fifteen months, despite 
the fact that every day ships arrive at 
Colon and La Boca from the infected 
ports of South America. There are 
thirty-five thousand men employed in 
the construction of the canal and col- 

lateral undertakings. Out of that num- 
ber fifty-five hundred may be listed as 
American whites. There were two 
deaths from small-pox during the past 
year ; and out of the 1,105 deaths dur- 
ing the year, 431 were due to pneu- 
monia — Si large majority of those were 
negroes, who after working during the 
hot days, sit in the open air during the 
moist, cool evenings, without chang- 
ing their damp underclothing, as in- 
structed. The remaining deaths were 
caused by diseases common to any 
average body of men and the cases 
were not proportionately excessive in 
number. Month after month there 
has been a remarkable decline in the 
American death rate, and despite their 
failure to take personal precautions, 
the more wholesome environment has 
lessened the danger to the blacks. 
Thus during the month of May only 
four American whites died out of the 
5,481 employed, which would afford an 
average death rate of about ten per 
thousand. To the several excellent 
hospitals which have been located on 
the Isthmus there were only twenty- 
one to each thousand admitted as sick 
during May. During the same period 
the negro mortality was twice that of 
the whites in general and four times 
that per thousand American whites in 
particular. The negro mortality ranges 
between forty and fifty per thousand 
employed. A comparison of these fig- 
ures simply leads to the conclusion 
that the intelligence and natural con- 
stitution of the American white assure 
his ultimate recognition as the most ef- 
ficient type of canal builder. The exist- 
ence of a large body of American 
whites, capable of competing with all 
other races in the Tropics from the 
standpoint of healthy efficiency, is a 
condition that renders possible politi- 
cal consequences not within the scope 
of discussion in a publication of this 

Digitized by 






By John Trotwood Moore 

The Tennessee river is a very pic- giving an old-fashioned barbecue, that 
turesque stream at Johnsonville. It is I went for material for this story, 
a beautiful stream always. Just across It was here in this section some fif- 
the river from Johnsonville is the vil- teen miles down the river, that For- 
lage of Eva, and it was to this place, rest's Cavalry captured, late in Octo- 
where the citizens of the county were ber, 1864, the Federal transport Ma- 

seppa, heavily laden 
with stores and towing 
two rich barges, and on 
the next day, October 
30th, captured the 
transport Venus, tow- 
ing two barges, and 
convoyed by a g^boat. 
Later in the day the 
steamer Cheesetnan, 
richly laden, was also 

And at Johnsonville, 
November 3d, 1864, 
Morton's Battery of 
Forrest's Cavalry, com- 
ing suddenly on the 
east bank of the river 
opposite the town, un- 
der the command of 
Captain John W. 
Morton, utterly de- 
stroyed, according to 
Forrest's official re- 
port for the entire raid, 
the following : 

Says Forrest: "The 
roads were almost im- 
passable, and the march 
to Corinth was slow 
and toilsome, but we 


Digitized by 




vember loth, after an absence of over 
two weeks, during which time I cap- 
tured and destroyed four gunboats, 
fourteen transports, twenty barges, 
twenty-six pieces of artillery and $6,- 
700,000 worth of property and cap- 
tured one hundred and fifty prisoners. 
General Buford, after supplying his 
own command, turned over to my 
chief quartermaster about nine thou- 
sand pairs of shoes and one thousand 
blankets. My loss dur- 
ing the entire trip was 
two killed and nine 

Later estimates 
placed the property de- 
stroyed at about $3,- . 

This sounds like 
Jackson in the valley 
after Banks. Forrest 
is the only other ge- 
nius brought out by the 
war whose fighting re- 
calls that of the "Pray- 
ing Elder;" and Lord 
Wolseley is on record 
that these two were 
the two great geniuses 
of the war. 

It was Morton's Bat- 
tery which destroyed 
the vast amount of 
stores in front of John- 
sonville on November 
30th, 1864, and it was 
in his company that I 
journeyed to the scenes 
of that daring raid 
forty-three years after- 
ward. A b^rdless boy 
then, he is now Sec- 
retary of State of Tennessee, and this 
was his first visit there since that stir- 
ring November afternoon. It is rare 
that a maker of history should visit a 
batterfield nearly half a century after- 
wards. It is rare that a writer of his- 
tory is able to get it at first hand from 
the actual maker — a writer who at that 
time was also "in arms,'* but they were 
dusky and ebon, the kindly fort of 
which, the writer remembers very dis- 
tinctly, was adom^ by a re<} 5|n<} 

spotted cotton bandanna and the faith- 
ful face above was known as "mam- 
my." Before the war was over, the 
writer was old enough to take notice 
and to remember distinctly hearing the 
above-mentioned mammy say one day : 
"Yes, chile, we sho' is whuppin' 'em fas'. 
One uv ouah men killed ten uv 'em de 
udder day wid one ball, all in a line." 
This made a lasting impression on 
the writer as a most satisfactory way 


DOWN WHICH Morton's battery operated 

of getting rid of one's enemies, also 
as a plan of his own which he intended 
to carry out when he went to war. 

The actual capture of the gunboats 
by cavalry occurred before the de- 
struction of Johnsonviile, and was 
made effective by Forrest's moving 
with his usual swiftness and setting 
his trap on the river bank before the 
Federals knew it. The trap consisted 
of BelFs Tennesseans and one section 
of Morton*? Battery being placecj on 

Digitized by 




the river bank at Paris Landing, the 
guns extending a mile or so up and 
down the river ; and five miles below, 
at Fort Heiman, with General Bu- 
ford, with his division and two twen- 
ty-pound Parrotts guarding that point. 
Into this trap slipped, on the morn- 
ing of October 29, the Maseppa, rich- 
ly laden, and with two transports. 


Captain Morton tells a charactertstio anecdote of General 
ForreHt'H orders to him on this spot The general sat on hin 
horse watching the effect of Morton's gnns. He thought 
they were shooUng too high, and exclaimed: "ElevaU her 
a little lower, John ! Bleyate her a lltUe lower I" 

The lower batteries, masked, let her 
in, and when well in the trap she was 
shot up like a tomato can pitched 
into the air before Captain Andy 
Meadows. Her crew deserted her, all 
but her gallant captain. Private West, 
stripped, swam out with his pistol 
bucked around -his neck and took her. 
The next day the transport Venus, 

towing two barges and convoyed by 
the gunboat Undine, ran into the trap, 
all of which, after a desperate fight, 
were captured. The Venus was de- 
fended by a detachment of infantry 
and was captured by Colonel D. C. 
Kelley, now a distinguished minister of 
the Methodist Church, South. 
Forrest now had horse marines, and 
Colonel W. A. Daw- 
son, hoisting a com- 
mander's flag on the 
Undine and Captain 
Gracey hoisting anoth- 
er on the Venus, these 
daring land - lobsters 
started up the river, the 
.first lot of cavalrymen 
that ever attempted to 
run gunboats. 

"Now, General,'* 
said Dawson to his su- 
perior, "I will go with 
these gunboats wher- 
ever you order, but I 
want to tell you now 
I know nothing about 
them, and I want you 
to promise me now that 
if I lose your fleet and 
come in afoot, you will 
not curse me out about 

Forrest laughed and 
told him to go ahead, 
and if he couldn't hold 
his water dogs, to run 
their noses into the 
mud, fire them and 

This happened to 
Gracey and the Venus 
the first time they met 
a Yankee gunboat 
whose crew knew how 
to handle her ; and the 
Undine, after a gallant fight, met the 
same fate the next day. 

It was all thrilling while it lasted, 
and it is the record in the history of 
war. Forrest was far-sighted and 
fought more bloodless battles by his 
head than his arm, terrible as he 
was in a hand-to-hand fight. Witness 
his raid into Memphis, destroying 

Digitized by 



Sherman's base of supplies and fetch- three years have passed, and Morton 
ing that general back from the Mis- himself would not know where his 
sissippi as eflFectually as if he had met eight guns had stood and fought a fort 
and defeated him in pitched battle, of seventy guns and an army of sol- 
Witness now the Johnsonville affair, diers and gunboats to a finish, had not 
It is bloodless victory that marks the a citizen, Mr. J. F. McKelty, who had 
great general. always lived there, and who remem- 

The Federals held the state of Ten- bered so well the memorable day, 
nessee and as far as Decatur, Alabama, shown us the spot. 
Hood turned and began his raid into The field is now in com, but for a 
Tennessee. Forrest saw 
at once there would be 
a great concentration 
of Federal forces at 
Nashville, threatening 
Memphis and West 
Tennessee. He asked 
permission to remain 
in West Tennessee,and 
at the proper moment 
he struck and de- 
stroyed their base. In 
effect it was the same 
as if Morton's Battery, 
when it slipped up on 
the banks of the Ten- 
nessee river at John- 
sonville and destroyed 
three million dollars' 
worth of supplies for 
the Federals, had 
whipped them as if met 
in brittle array. It was 
far better generalship 
than Franklin and 
Nashville. It was ^ead 
of Atlanta. It sur- 
passed Bragg in Ken- 
tucky, because it did 
things. It took food 
from men who must 
eat before they could position of upper guns, morton's battery 

march, and ammuni- captain Morton standing where his guns bombarded the fort 

tion from cannon that 

must have powder before they could mile down the river bank we drove, 

fire, and blankets from backs that marking the spots. The whole scene 

could not march naked. And nobody was pictured. Yonder was the fort, 

was killed, and the Federal wheel of high above the town, equipped with 

war stopped for a while, and time seventy guns. But luck favored For- 

meant much to Hood, had he been born rest, for the hill on which the fort was 

with sense enough to know it. situated was so high that the guns 

Waiting his opportunity then, For- could not be depressed enough to reach 

rest strudfe Down by the river he fol- the river batteries just across the river 

lowed the road he made through the and right under them. Like a hound 

cane and timber as he came in. Forty- who gets to the flank of a buck, 

Digitized by VjOOQIC 



Morton was safe both from horn 
and hoof. 

The gunboats and supplies lay out 
in the water in front of them. Now, 
either of the gunboats could have 
swept the bold Rebels from the river 
bank, but here luck again (or who says 
it was not brains?) came to Morton's 
Battery. The banks of the river were 
too high and the gunboats shot over 
them. Two of the gunboats seeing 
this, started up the river to enfilade, 
but the upper Rebel battery on the 
bank there pumped it into them so 
steadily that they turned back, and 
then occurred the 
remarkable scene 
of a battery of 
g^ns in pistol shot 
of a big fort and 
gunboats, in a 
curve of perfect 
safety, absolutely 
immune from 
shell above or 
gtmboat below 
and deliberately 
destroying them 
and the millions 
of dollars of sup- 
plies they were 
guarding. It 
worked like the 
woi kings of some 
incarnate P r o s- 
p e r o, death-im- 
mune. Morton cut 
his shells for fire. 
In a little while 
flames burst from 
one of the gunboats, and the gallant 
gunners in it jumped for the river. It 
drifted to the steamers, firing them. A 
hot shell, aimed at bales of hay, soon 
had them in flame. Then the ware- 
houses were riddled, and a blue flame 
leaped to the sky, and a streak of devil- 
ish fire ran to the river. 

It was several hundred barrels of 
whisky, and one shell from Morton's 
Battery made the Yankee army dry 
for a month and for the first time in 
its history, Nashville, Tennessee, was 
on the water wagon. 

yiay th§t time 9ome again soon, 



even if it takes Morton's Battery to 

The flames lit up the country for 
miles. The futile guns in the fort 
rained harmlessly, tilie burning boats 
floated around with bursting flames 
from ignited powder boxes, and three 
million dollars' worth of property and 
supplies went up in smoke. No won- 
der Sherman wrote Grant, Novem- 
ber 6th: **That devil, Forrest, went 
down about JohnsonvUle, making 
havoc among the gunboats and trans- 
And Forrest, grinning like Me- 
phisto, and waving 
his fiery forked 
tail, pulled away, 
unharmed, swing- 
ing around the Fed- 
eral right, and led 
Hood away into 
Tennessee. And if 
he and not Hood 
had been in com- 
mand of that fiery 
army of ragged pa- 
triots who could go 
up against the 
breastworks of 
Franklin through 
death with a zeal 
that swept up the 
gates of Nashville, 
Nashville would 
have fallen. 

All's well that 
ends well. We can 
all see it now, but 
God saw it then, 
it is good to tell these things. 

that the unborn may know whom 
to imitate and honor when they 
would fight again for their coun- 

And the next time they will fight 
yellow-and-brown and not white. 

[The following very interesting article is 
from the pen of Rev. Dr. D. C Kclley, the 
"fighting parson" of Forrest's Cavalry, and 
who took the initiative in the capture of the 
first of the Federal gunboats. It was writ- 
ten at the request of the editors of Tay- 
lor-Trotwood, and is a most interesting ac- 
count of this famous capture. — EDnoits 


Digitized by 




The writer has not deemed it incum- 
bent on him heretofore to do more than 
furnish facts and incidents when called 
for in regard to General N. B. For- 
rest, believing that Tennessee would 
at last learn through the reports of the 
men who followed him in the war, the 
unmatched character of her own citi- 

Jordan and Pryor's "Life of For- 
rest" gives the following account of 
the attack on the Federal gunboats at 
Paris Landing, no forces on the part 
of the Confederates present except 
cavalry and light artillery: 

"Just before the arrival of General 
Chalmers, Captain Morton had come up 
with orders from General Buford to trans- 
fer the section of his battery there to the 
immediate vicinity of the gunboat, and re- 
commence the attack. Informed of this 
fact and the situation of affairs, Chalmers, 
after consultation with Colonel Bell, direct- 
ed that officer to move his artillery as near 
as possible to the Undine and Venus, and 
drive them from their shelter. Some se- 
rious difficulties, however, being reported 
to be in the way of transporting the ar- 
tillery to the proper point. Colonel Rucker 
made a personal reconnoissance and find- 
ing the movement to be practicable, was 
then ordered to take the section of Wal- 
ton's Battery (two ten-pounder Parrott 
gims), supported by the old Forrest Regi- 
ment (Kelley) and the Fifteenth Tennes- 
see Cavalry (Logwood) and attack as 
quickly as possible. Dismounting, and tak- 
ing a position under cover of the bushes, 
below the gunboat, (Colonel Kelley, opening 
a rapid fire both upon the yenus and at tjxt 
port-holes of the Undine with his rifles, at- 
tracted the attention of the enemy, while the 
artillery under Sergeant Crozier, was moved 
up by hand into a favorable position, from 
which a vigorous fire was promptly opened 
and maintained with such precision that 
the enemy, unable to make head with their 
armament- eight twenty-four-pounder How- 
itzers — ^after a vain but spirited endeavor 
to do so, was driven to the opposite shore. 
One shot striking the bow, passed through 
from stem to stem, and she had been forced 
to dose her port-holes from the effect of 
sharp-shooters. Her officers and men not 
killed or wounded then escaped to the 
short. Meanwhile the Venus had been sur- 
rendered to (Colonel Kelley, who, going on 
board with two companies, took possession 
of the Undine, raised steam, and carried 
both gunboat and transport to the Paris 

This account needs emendation for 
the sake of accuracy. 

The Venus was in sight, at full 
speed, as Kelley threw his sharp-shoot- 
ers, dismounted, into the wood along 
the river bank; the Confederate ar- 
tillery was fortunately in action above 
him, his sharp-shooters, pouring their 
accurate fire into the flying boat, saw 
a white handkerchief suddenly float 
out from the steamer's deck, and heard 
the command, "Cease firing," frcmi 
their own conimander. The boat, 
which now tume'd to the bank, crushed 
into the Underwood, a stage plank 
thrown out, an oflScer on it asking loud- 
ly for the "Commander of the Sharp- 
shooters," adding, "I could have 
passed the cannon, but the d — d sharp- 
shooters have killed all my men. I 
want to surrender to the conunander 
of the sharp-shooters," at the same 
time holding out his pistol to the Con- 
federate commander. A minute later 
a command came from Forrest, as he 
rode on the field : "Tell Kelley to bring 
me the gunboat from the opposite side 
of the river." Fifty men were selected 
to man the captured boat — the Federal 
engineer, fireman and pilot ordered to 
their respective places. A Confed- 
erate officer, with loaded pistol in hand, 
stood at the engine, and the comman- 
der of the Confederate regiment at the 
pilot house, while the crossing of the 
river was effected. Every moment a 
broadside from the f/ndtW was expect- 
ed. It was a wonderful relief when 
she was reached to find that her prow 
had been run into the bank upon land- 
ing, and her crew had deserted her. 
The difficulty, therefore, was to fasten 
her own hawser to us and after mul- 
tiplied efforts pull her off the bank, so 
as to cross the river to where General 
Forrest awaited our "coming." As we 
were later on in this expedition 
standing on the river bank above the 
railroad brigade at Johnsonville, For- 
rest rode up and said: "Kelley, you 
see those two steamers on the oppo- 
site bank standing out well into the 
stream ? Can't you do for them what 
you did the other day for the steamers 
at Paris Landing?" 

The reply was, "I have no boat in 
which to cross the river to get at them, " 

Digitized by 



Forrest answered, "Send out to the the steamers on the opposite bank 

homes of the citizens and get tools to were aflame, and the wind wafted to 

make a raft, and bring me one of those half-starved Confederates delicious 

boats over there." A detachment was odors from burning stores, 
sent for the tools, but ere it returned D. C Kelley. 

Note.— ** The Capture of the Federal Gunboats at Johnsonvill** " completes the 
*• Historic Highways of the South," as orig-inally contemplated. The mass of inter- 
esting- material found by Mr. Moore durin^^ his research has tempted him to plan a 
number of additional visits to places of historic interest, accounts of which wiU ap- 
pear intermittently. 


A memory, wafted o'er a city wall, 
Upon my heart fell soft as thistle-down ; 
And once again there came the vesper's call 

From grasses brown. 
And hidden sheep bells from the hillside flow 

In tinklings low. 

Long, long I sat beneath the hill to hear 
Each sweetly vibrant pause, the sudden chime, 
The broken cadences of far or near. 

The silvery rhyme — ' 
As tho' the dreams of music from each bell 

In dewdrops fell. 

• a 

The sun went down, but still its beams made fair 
With golden light the cloud-flecked upper sky — 
And in the silence of the beauty there 

Still trembled by 
At intervals, that melody of a day 

Too bright to stay. 

Ah me ! not here, but there, my heart, 
Within the wide, wide fields 'twere best to be. 
Of all within these walls thou hast no part — 

Thine to be free! 
To hear the tinkling sheep bells on the hill 

When all is still. Ingram Crockett 

Digitized by 






By Reverend Crawford Jackson 

HBOUT five years ago, while 
editing a Christian journal in 
Atlanta and on my way to my 
office, I met a bright-looking lad 
in the hands of a policeman, to whom 
I put some questions concerning the 
boy's parents and general condition. I 
found out that his mother was dead, 
had died indeed when he was a baby, 
that his father was "no good," and that 
the boy had himself been put twenty 
times in jail and a dozen times in the 
stockade, sometimes for thirty days at 
a time. I talked with the boy that af- 
ternoon in prison, but made absolutely 
no impression on him. 

I was more than ever impressed with 
the need of a means whereby boys 
could be turned from the wrong before 
association with hardened criminals 
had blunted their sensibilities. I made 
a visit to the Police Court the next 
morning and urged the judge to place 
the boy in my care instead of in the 
stockade. To my surprise, the lad sec- 
onded my request, and we left the court 
room in complete understanding and 

This boy has turned my life around. 
After a few days he told me that his 
little brother was in jail and in get- 
ting him out I heard of another, then 
another, and before I was aware of it 
God had thrust me into this great work. 

Speaking generally, the criminal is 
the one individual in our midst for 
whom the very least provision is made 
looking to bis salvation and future use- 

fulness ; and of all men he is the one 
most in need of such provision, both 
for his own and for society's sake. But 
instead of his receiving the needed help, 
in most instances the very steps are 
taken which conduce to his greater 
criminality. Then can it not be rightly 
asked and answered. Is not crime on 
the increase, at least in part, because 
of our unwise methods in dealing with 
the criminal himself? To be a little 
more pointed, have we not been train- 
ing our wayward and neglected chil- 
dren into criminals by putting them in 
a criminal atmosphere, and then fool- 
ishly asked the question, "Why is 
crime on the increase ?" 

To find a number of children sick 
because of some deadly germs in their 
system, and place them where more 
such germs would be received, and 
then ask why they were, when turned 
loose, spreading contagion and death 
in our midst — such a course would en- 
title such a man to a place in an in- 
stitution for lunatics or criminals. And 
yet that is exactly what we have been 

Our first efforts to remedy these 
conditions were put forth for the es- 
tablishment of a Juvenile Court in At- 
lanta. A number of citizens became 
interested in the movement and worked 
faithfully for the establishment of this 
child-saving institution. Relieved of 
the work with individual juvenile of- 
fenders, I was able to turn my atten- 
ticm to the letters which had poured in 

Digitized by 




from all parts of the state, asking for 
help in extending the movement to oth- 
er cities. The work continued to grow, 
and an active campaign for a State 
• Reformatory was inaugurated. A good 
part of two years was spent in this 
campaign from the pulpit, platform, 
and press ; a"»d during the summer of 
the second year the legislature passed 
the bill creating 
this institution — 
but alas I it was 
placed on one side 
of the State Prison 
Farm, near Mill- 
edgeville. Besides, 
for a child sixteen 
years and under to 
get into this insti- 
tution he must 
commit a crime 
and be committed- 
by the courts. 

A number of 
pitiful appeals kept ,^ 
coming to me, 
from Georgia and 
all over the South, 
from parents, 
guardians, from 
friends of such 
children, and some- 
times from judges 
themselves, asking 
what could be done 
with this or that 
wayward child, for 
whom no local pro- 
vision had been 

The next logical 
step was to call an 
interstate confer- 
ence, which met in 
Washington, Dis- 
trict of Columbia, a little over a year 
ago to consider the needs of these 
chanceless children all over the South. 
Delegates were sent from the various 
states, and the whole subject was care- 
fully considered. President Roosevelt 
addressed the convention, in part as 
follows : 

"... The chance of success lies with 
the boy and not with the man. That 

applies peculiarly to those boys who 
tend to drift off into courses which 
mean that unless they are checked they 
will be formidable additions to the 
criminal population when they grow 
older. It is eminently worth while to 
try to prevent those boys becoming 
criminals, to try to prevent their be- 
ing menaces to and expenses and scares 
to society, while 
there is a chance of 
reforming them." 
It was decided 
to promote the 
work in a three- 
fold form. First, 
advocating and as- 
sisting to institute 
Juvenile Courts 
and the probation 
system in the 
larger cities of the 
South ; second, 
promoting state 
legislation ; and 
third, creating a 
Juvenile State, for 
the educational, in- 
dustrial, moral, 
and civic training 
of wayward or 
neglected children, 
to be founded and 
maintained by all 
of the Southern 

The plan of 
government of the 
Juvenile State will 
include the election 
of officers by the 
boys, as is done in 

RESCUE LED TO THE FOUNDING t% uI*^ — iil. *.!. 

OF THE WORK KepubUc, With the 

exception that here 
the government will be a replica of 
state and not national government 
This will beget in the boys a knowl- 
edge of the workings of the law and 
the citizen's responsibility for its pres- 
ervation, as well as incite in them an 
ambition to so excel as to reach posi- 
tions of trust and responsibility. It 
will be, in short, an education in prac- 
tical citizenship, and we want end 

Digitized by 




mean to have such an institution as 
any father would be glad to send his 
boy to, for this purpose, as well as to 
get him delivered from the manifold 
temptations of city life. 

Schooling and training in all the 
useful trades will be provided, and the 
institution can easily be made to pro- 
duce most of its supplies and be self- 
supporting on its surplus products. 

A splendid start has beai made, in 
the donation of four hundred and 
twenty-six acres of valuable land in 
the state of Georgia, near the Ten- 
nessee line; and an endowment fund 
is being raised by contributions from 
interested persons all over the coun- 
try, the sums ranging frcwn one dol- 
lar to thousands. Our treasurer is 
Judge W. R. Hammond, a gentleman 
of high Christian character, who has 
his oflBce with me in the Century 
Building, Atlanta. 

It will be seen that this work is dif- 
ferent f rcrni that of the Reformatories. 
It is our aim to turn into right paths 
and useful pursuits boys who, while 
neglected or untrained, are not yet 
criminals; and by removing them 
from vicious associations, instill into 
them a knowledge of and a desire for 
upright citizenship. 

I may add here that the boy whose 
rescue led to the founding of the 
work is now holding a responsible po- 
sition in a large firm, and it would 
be hard to find a brighter, happier, 
more ambitious young man. 

We have been successful in estab- 
lishing Juvenile Courts in many of our 
leading cities, and if this interest con- 
tinues and the various state legisla- 
tures will appropriate funds for the 
maintenance of boys sent from their 
states, we shall soon have the work 
thoroughly under way. We have 
every reason to be hopeful for the 
early fruition of these plans; for we 

receive every day practical proofs of 
the interest of thoughtful people. 

Look at the printed words of wis- 
dom and life and love on the beautiful 
pages of the Bible. Some one might 
ask, "What are these beautiful white 
pages and whence came they?" And 
the reply would come back, "These 
were once the waste papers and the 
cast-off rags of the street, but which 
were taken by hands of skill and ma- 
chines and were transformed into 
leaves of whiteness and beauty, on 
which are the very words of inspira- 

Look yonder at the beautiful sun- 
set and the varied, ever-changing glo- 
ries of the heavens. What are these, 
and whence came they? And the an- 
swer ccrnies back, "These are they 
which were once the poisonous vapors 
and miasmatic gases of the stagnant 
pools and the marshes, but which have 
been kissed by the sun, drawn up and 
changed into these surpassing glories." 

Some day a great company of shin- 
ing ones will be seen and admired, and 
the question will be asked, "Who are 
these, and whence came they?" And 
the reply will come back, "These are 
they who were once the ragamuffins 
of the street and lane, the wayward 
children of the alley and of the prison, 
but who were taken up by strong 
hands ancf loving hearts and have been 
changed into useful citizens and have 
been clothed in the white raiment of 
purity and knowledge of love." 

This is the object of the Juvenile 
Court ; this is the mission of our state 
institutions for such children; this is 
the end of the legislative measures wc 
are advocating ; this is the purpose of 
the "Juvenile State" which we are cre- 
ating for the unfortunate children of 
our Southland; this is the one su- 
preme purpose of the Juvenile State 
Association, with all of its branches. 

Digitized by 



Daughter of Hon. Talbot J. Albert, now American Consul at Bfunswick, Germany 

Digitized by 

Google I 


Ban Antonio 

Digitized by 





Digitized by 




Digitized by 





Digitized by 




By Campbell MacLeod 

Photographs by Elizabeth M. Pinckard 

NY have read and enjoyed 
he delightful sketches of the 
[oe Jefferson that Francis 
w, which have been a popu- 
of a well-known monthly 
for many issues. The Joe Jefferson 
that William Winter knew and loved 
has also been featured in magazine ar- 
ticles at length. There is another Joe 
Jefferson equally lovable — the Joe Jef- 
ferson whose memory lingers in the 
"Cajun" section of Louisiana, where 
he lived a part of each year for many 
years, a modest sportsman and a model 
neighbor. The Joe Jefferson that the 
"Cajuns" loved was to them not the 
world-famed actor but the kind friend, 
the generous benefactor. 

Jefferson's old home, on Orange or 
Jefferson's Island, may be reached by 
the Southern Pacific Railroad, which 
will leave you at "Bob Acres," the sta- 

tion whose name is self-explanatory. 
The dwelling house is two miles from 
there. Or you may drive from New a 
Iberia, which is the pleasanter way and 
a trip of about three hours. This 
drive, if you are fortunate enough to 
make the pilgrimage in the late spring, 
is one of the delightful experiences that 
will remain with you ; for about seven 
miles of the road leads through a 
Cherokee rose hedge that is then a 
glory of golden-hearted, creamy blos- 
soms. These gleam against the glossy 
green of the leaves and the long vistas 
that stretch as far as the eye can reach 
present an avenue to which a landscape 
gardener could say his prayers. Part 
of this hedge, it is said, was planted 
by Mr. Jefferson himself. But hedges 
of this character seem to be a feature 
all over that part of the country. 
This section of Louisiana is the fa- 

Digitized by 




mous prairie, and it would be diflScult 
to find anything more picturesque than 
the acres of rolling green pasture 
lands, dotted here and there by nu- 
merous lavender-lace-veiled pools of 
water hyacinths. Here the cane fields 
stretch forth to unnumbered acres. 
The eye loses itself in the far lines of 
forest miles away. The road runs like 
a dusty ribbon with many turns and 
unexpected twists past tiny stores at 
cross-roads and occasionally a church 
or schoolhouse. 

"Yer turn in at er gate half er mile 

rounded by a pretty hedge of wild 
guava. The entrance these days is 
from the back, and the drive through 
the woods, for the forest runs right up 
to the stables, and it is surpassingly 
beautiful. The house is deserted now, 
except for a care-taker, an old family 
servant, Villere Dupree, who served 
Joe Jefferson as long as he lived on 
Orange Island. 

Most of the original furniture of the 
house has been moved away. There 
remain several pictures, among them a 
painting by Jefferson himself. This is 


this side uver big bo'din' house," were 
the explicit' direction given our party 
by a small "Cajun" boy hoeing in a 
field. "The bo'din' house is 'bout 
three-quarters uv er mile from here, and 
hit's half er mile up the road from er old 
tree. Turn in the th' third gate and 
keep to the road," In the course of 
an hour we got in the right gate and 
turned towards the house visible over 
the tree tops on the hill on which it 

The house is large and pleasantly 
r^rnblinp ; it sits on ^ hi)l and is s\ir- 

a bit of his earlier work, and is along 
the lines of his favorite theme, the 
misty, moss-draped Southern swamps. 
The paint is beginning to peel from 
this, and the gold frame is tarnished 
to such a degree that the picture might 
be taken to be a hundred years old. 
Jefferson's studio is in the upper story. 
It seems alive with his presence to-day, 
for on the walls are streaks of paint, 
seemingly still fresh; there are old 
paint tubes twisted and dried and a 
number of blocked off canvases, on 
which pictures w^r^ started, On the 

Digitized by 




walls are odd daubs that his servant, 
who followed at our heels to dilateonhis 
beloved master, explained were where 
Mr. JeflFerson loved to test his colors. 
Here are nailed up cardboards and ad- 
dresses. One of them was addressed to 



John Mmvx, or New Orleans. 

Mr, Jefferson evidently liked to 
paint all over the place, for his belong- 
ings are scattered about in the several 
closets that open into this room, and 
even out on the crazy little balcony 
that is reached through what was built 

I in the corner still 

press. This, the 

as the pride of his 

►rds he 

tige Is- 

e, take 

this to 

i to tell, 

is task 

K>ks as 
good as new. Here, he 
continued, Mr. Jefferson 
would come in the early 
morning, to paint after he 
had returned from a tramp 
through the woods. At 
Itmcheon time he would be 
so absorbed in his painting 
that the only way to get him scene on 
to come for a bite to eat 
was to take his Iwushes out of his hand. 
He did not resent this familiarity, for 
his servants loved him, and he realized 
that everybody knew better than him- 
self when it was time for him to eat. 
**He told me I had been an ideal ser- 
vant," Villere boasted. "Always on 
hand when wanted, and never in the 
way when he didn't want me around. 
And when he left he said it was for 
good, and he gave me twenty-five dol- 
lars for a present." 

The upper part of the Jefferson 
house is a Chinese puzzle that will 
keep you awake nights after you have 
visited it. There are about six or 
seven rooms, all so cut up and devious 
that they couldn't possibly have been 
designed for bedrooms, and none of 

them finished. The studio is the largest 
of these, but it is far from suggesting 
a pleasant room in winter. There is no 
way of heating it. Jefferson used to 
have lamps placed about the room to 
heat it. He was mortally afraid of 
gasoline, and he abhorred a stove. 

The story goes that the reason Jef- 
ferson left this place was because he 
came very near being accidentally hur- 
ried out of life there. It happened this 

When the house was built he was not 
then a young man, and he had all the 
stage superstitions, among others that 
it is not wise for an old man to live in 
a new house — while it is still very new. 
So when he had the house built he did 


not live in it. His apartments were in 
the yard in an old-fashioned "office." 
After he had stayed two years in this, 
he concluded that the house was suf- 
ficiently ancient for habitation. The 
"office" was accordingly rolled up to 
the house. Shortly afterwards a gaso- 
line stove exploded in the bathroom, 
and Mr. Jefferson always insisted that 
it was a miracle — he was in the room 
at the time — and escaped. The next 
morning he announced his intention of 
leaving the place. 

It is not the province of the writer 
to pass on Mr. Jefferson as an artist — 
from a painter's standpoint — but it is 
hard to believe that any man who could 
consent to desecrating so ancient and 
lovely a spot as the place on which the 

Digitized by 




house stands by a gingerbread, Queen 
Anne and a general mixture of "pe- 
riods" could have the true artistic ap- 
preciation of the appropriate. For the 
house itself is to other houses what 
chow-chow pickle is to other pickles — 
a combination embracing everything in 
architecture. The galleries are broad 
and the posts to them small and fancy. 
The finish to the front should have 
been imposing and in keeping with 
lines of simplicity and strength, in- 
stead all dignity has been frittered 
away with gim- 
crack lattice-work 
decorations in star 
and crescent de- 

The rooms are 
large and comfor- 
table. One won- 
ders at the mind 
that ever conceived 
the idea of placing 
them as they stand. 
Surely the archi- 
tect must have been 
the forerunner of 
the man who con- 
structed the mir- 
ror-maze, for once 
you get in one, it 
takes some time to 
get out, and never 
by the same way 
you entered. 

The paper has 
faded in these 
rooms now, and the 
tiles are falling out 
in the fireplaces. A few good steel en- 
gravings remain. Among these are 
the old-fashioned "Welcome," "Fare- 
well" and " Mother and Child." In 
the dining-room a really fine piece of 
French inlaid work in a cabinet re- 
mains. It is interesting to note that 
most of the windows in these rooms 
are of the tiny-paned Colonial period, 
set in bow-wiodow style. The various 
deer horns and hunting pictures about 
the place indicate that it has al- 
ways been in the hands of those who 
love the gun and rod. 

Here Joe Jefferson entertained 

ONE OF JOE Jefferson's cajun neigh- 

many famous people. Grover Cleve- 
land was a frequent visitor, and any ac- 
tor or actress was always welcome. 
While Mr. Jefferson bought the place 
for the rest and recreation and did no 
entertaining on a lavish scale, there 
were always visitors in his home. Wil- 
liam Winter, the famous dramatic critic, 
was a near neighbor at that time, and a 
dear friend. The hunting preserve 
here is one of the finest in the whole 
country. It embraces three thou- 
sand acres, and snipe and partridge 
abound. Here, 
also, Jefferson had 
one of the finest 
kennels in the 

Theogene La- 
baue, a Cajun, who 
lived on the Jeffer- 
son estate from the 
time it was pur- 
chased by the Jef- 
fersons, tells many 
interesting stories 
of the old days 
when the genial 
owner and his 
friends used to 
come down for the 

Those were 
great days for the 
tenants on the is- 
land. "M.JoeJef- 
fairson," the Ca- 
jun explained in 
his broken English, 
"he brang Santa 
Claus for averbody. Nobody not for- 
gotten. He brang toys, clothes, pres- 
ents for every family. He remember 
all the children — no, not one was ever 
forgotten. We call him Santa Claus, 
yes." But to reproduce the quaint pa- 
tois of the Cajun is a task to which the 
present writer humbly admits total in- 
adequacy, so the conversation with La- 
baue is done into English. 

Mr. Jefferson would come weighted 
down with presents for everybody. His 
generosity was well known, and the 
Cajuns were not slow in letting him 
know they adored people who gave^ 

Digitized by 




presents. The first time he came to 
have any dealing with him, the speaker 
explained, was many years ago, when 
the Jeffersons wanted to restock the 
island with quail. Labaue's children 
undertook to trap the birds, and he 
brought them to the Jefferson house. 
Charlie Jefferson opened the bag. The 
birds flew away. Then he turned to 
the astonished Cajun to ask how much 
he owed him. 

"Nothing," that one replied. "See, 
they are gone." 

"I bought them to turn loose on the 
island." He hand- 
ed Labaue ten dol- 

"ni take it to 
the children," he 
replied. "I'll say 
it is a present sent 
by Mr. Charlie Jef- 

This was the be- 
ginning of a 
friendship between 
the two. For La- 
baue proudly 
claims Charlie Jef- 
ferson as his best 
friend. "Ah, but 
he was of the big 
heart," he exclaims 
affectionately. "He 
was the one every- 
body loved." 

Charlie Jefferson 
lived on the island 
for a niunbcr of 
years. Here, about 
half a mile from 
the home house, is the cottage that lie 
built for his beautiful wife, who 'lied 
and was buried there under the gray- 
draped trees that hide the cottage from 
view. The Cajuns loved Charlie Jef- 
ferson. He was one of them. He 
at heart a cowboy, and entered into 
their sports, their amusements, with all 
the energy and enthusiasm of a na- 
tive son of the soil. Indeed, when the 
question'of the Jeffersons is brought up, 
they will switch from the distinguished 
father to tell you of the exploits of the 
son. They have heard vaguely of Joe 


Jefferson's acting, but they know that 
Charlie is the greatest actor the world 
will ever see, for they have seen him 
act. They will tell you of the time he 
acted in New Iberia. It is a story 
handed down from father to son, how 
the house rang to the echo with the 
enthusiasm of the audience who were 
seeing a play perhaps for the first time. 
The fever for the stage was in- 
herited in the Jefferson family. Even 
when Charlie Jefferson was supposed 
to be farming he had dreams of mak- 
ing his fortune on the stage. "Char- 
lie, he say to me," 
Labaue reminis- 
cenced, " 'I put on 
de play. It make 
one hit. I come 
back with great 
money. I farm the 
rest of my life and 
live here.' " It was 
on one of these 
trips North that 
Charlie Jefferson's 
wife died. He had 
gone to New York 
with high hopes of 
making his for- 
tune on " The 
Shadows of a Great 
City," or some play 
like that. While 
he was away she 
died. Naturally, 
after that the asso- 
ciations were pain- 
ful to him, and he 
left for the North. 
The Cajuns still 
look for him to come back "home" to 

One of the treats that Jefferson al- 
ways laid great stress on giving his 
guests was "Cajun" coffee. They 
would call on the different tenants to 
drink with them. Labaue tells with 
pride how Mr. Cleveland told him " *he 
had never got no cafe like dat in his 
life before.'" Mr. Jefferson also de- 
clared that nobody in the world could 
equal the Cajuns in preparing his fa- 
vorite drink. In the hunting trips 
through the country all of the Ca- 

Digitized by 




juns on the island were visited, and 
coffee was taken at every place — ^to 
avoid the petty jealousies which would 
have been engendered if some had been 

Cleveland's visit was a great time 
out there. For it seems he was quite 
as lavish and generous in gifts as his 

Labaue's wife spun a homespun suit 
for Mr. Qeveland and a riding habit 
for little Ruth, after his return to the 
North. This was sent to the ex- 
President as a Christmas oresent. In 
return he sent Labaue fifty dollars. 
"Yes, feefty dollar," emphasized the 
lover of Christmas gifts. 

Joe JeflFerson did much to help the 
Cajun women introduce their goods. 
His guests were always shown the 
product of the looms on his place, and 
many of them carried away suits of 
homespun to be made up as a South- 
em souvenir. Mme. Bicou-Bordreaux 
and Mme. Jules, the two Cajun wea- 
vers, were both well known to him, and 
he patronized them liberally. While 
they knew him then as a good man 
and a lovable neighbor, they have no 
idea even now how high he stood in 
the aflFection of the world. It was not 
generally known that Mr. Jefferson, 
in spite of his worldly training, was a 
timid man. And yet those who knew 
him best during his residence in the 
South declare that he was shy and dif- 
fident in meeting strangers and ner- 

vous about entering a roomful of 
strangers as the veriest schoolboy. 

Theogene Labaue has one treasure 
that money can't buy — ^and this was 
another "present" from his good 
friend. It is a painting bv Joe Jeffer- 
son of himself as "Rip Van Winkle." 
"De ole man," the owner loves to talk 
about the picture, "de ole man he come 
out on de stage in de picture, he raise 
his hand to his eyes, he lookin' for de 
years dat are gone away." 

No, he can't show you the picture, 
he regrets, and explains: "Dat Bob 
Broussard, our Representative, he 
say to me, he say *let me tek de pic- 
ture to Washington, D. C, to hang it 
in de room on er wall for averbody — 
all de friends of Mr. Jefferson — to see.' 
So I say, 'Vairy well, tek it on to 
Washington, to put in de room,' but I 
say: 'Bob, ef de time come when I 
cain't Stan' bein' separate from dat 
picture no longer, and I get er letter 
wrote to you sayin' return it to me, I 
want you to onderstan' I want you to 
hurry dat paintin' back frum Wash- 
ington, D. C., to me.' Den Bob he say 
vairy well, an' I say all de money 
dat Grover Clevelan' 's got in de bank 
couldn't part me frum dat picture. Hit 
was painted by M. Joe Jefferson his- 
self, and he giv hit as er present, er 
gift, to me. Yes." 

Here's to Joe Jefferson's memory. 
May it always stay green in the land 
and among the people he gladdened ! 

Digitized by 





Hospitality is one of the great tra- 
ditions of the South. It is this kindly 
spirit which justifies a custom which 
prevails widely among her young men. 
Such of them as have made prepara- 
tion of unusual usefulness in profes- 
sional or business life are prone to 
seek a field for effort in a state other 
than that of their birth. Always they 
find themselves ungfrudgingly and 
cordially welcomed, and the facility 
with which they fit themselves into 
the new environment is a proof that the 
people of the South are truly homo- 
geneous. It is this custom, too, which 
lends color to the good-natured boast- 
ing which occupies so much space in 
our newspapers. No Tennessean, if 
it be Tennessee that, at the moment, 
is pluming herself, will ever admit that 
Alabama or Missouri or Texas could 
manage to supply, from a native 
source, the splendid talents which they 
have borrowed from Tennessee, the in- 
ference being, of course, that men like 
Morgan or Pettus or Folk or Houston 
are as plentiful in Tennessee as huckle- 
berries. Mississippi never overlooks 
an opportunity of reminding Texas 
that Bailey was bom in Mississippi, 
and that Mississippi finds it no trouble 
at all to breed genius like Bailey's, 
supply Texas wi3i all she needs and 
have plenty left over for herself. 

Kentucl^ and Tennessee have, per- 
haps, made more of these drafts upon 
each otlier's supplies of manhood tfian 
have any of the other states. Ken- 
tuddans coming to Tennessee and 
finding the environment congenially 
compounded of blue sky, rolling hills, 
blue grass, fast horses and pretty wo- 
men, have remained to compensate us 
for the many Tennesseans who have 
crossed Walter's and Henderson's line, 

and grown permanently accustomed to 
the alien mode of distilling com, which 
is the only vital subject of difference 
between the two commonwealths. 

In this exchange of citizens, by the 
acquisition of Hon. M. T. Bryan from 
Kentucky, Tennessee has made one of 
the clearest profits that ever accrued 
to her at her sister's expense. 

Mr. Bryan was bom in Bourbon 
County, and his youth was the typical 
American one — hard work on the 
farm, mixed with terms at the country 
school and the academy, a clerkship in 
a store which won him the coveted 
course in the law school, the beginning 
of practice in a small town, which he 
soon abandoned for a larger field. He 
removed to Nashville, Tennessee, in 
1873, where he has practiced law ever 
since and always on the high plane of 
honor, which is the fondest tradition 
of that somewhat maligned profession. 
He has conducted a large mass of pri- 
vate affairs with g^reat ability and with 
conspicuous success; he has been in 
the State Senate, where he originated 
much constructive and useful legisla- 
tion; he was a delegate to the Na- 
tional Democratic Convention of 1888, 
and is at the present time the President 
of the Tennessee State gar Associa- 
tion, a member of the Library Board 
and of the Park Commission of his 
town. In fact it seldom happens that 
a, public occasion of any sort does not 
create a demand for his services either 
as chairman or toastmaster or post- 
prandial orator, in the discharge of 
which functions he commands an ad- 
dress and a social quality thoroughly 
appreciated by every one. 

There are always plenty of people 
in the limelight who are making use 
of their energy, tact, brains, and cour- 

Digitized by 




age to reach personal ends and per- 
sonal profit. But surely it is more in- 
teresting to get hold of a subject who 
has never done anything showy or 
spectacular, and to point out the quali- 
ties of head and heart that have made 
him, not only a delight to his friends, 
but a pillar of usefulness to society. 
Mr. Bryan has always cared deeply for 
social ends and is unfeignedly inter- 
ested in public affairs; but it can be 
truly said that he cares less for sta- 
tion and profit than for the 
opportunity to do effective 
service. As a result, there 
has seldom been a move- 
ment inaugurated in Ten- 
nessee for public betterment 
to which Mr. Bryan has not 
given the benefit of his 
splendid tact and ability for 
organization. He knows 
how to do things himself, 
and he has the rare gift of 
persuasion. He can weld 
men together in organiza- 
tions which cope success- 
fully with the disappoint- 
ments and difficulties in- 
cident to all voluntary pub- 
lic effort. 

A notable instance of 
this is the-work he has done 
for the improvement of in- 
land waterways. More than 
twenty years ago Mr. Bry- 
an took lipid of the pro- 
ject of locking and dam- 
ming the Cumberland Riv- 
er. During all these years, 
apparently so fruitless to 
spirits less jealous than 
his, he has hammered away 
at the project. He has advertised it 
and talked it and has never permitted 
it to be forgotten by the people. He 
has enlisted men of influence for it 
and employed all the newspaper space 
he could get for it. He has talked to 
Congressional committees at Washing- 
ton about it and has persuaded some 
of those committees to come to Ten- 
nessee and talk about it here. The 
result of this is that Congress has 
appropriated about three millions for 

the river, and before Mr. Bryan gels 
through there will be enough addi- 
tional millions expended to make the 
Cumberland navigable the year round 
throughout its six hundred miles of 
length. When this is, brought to pass, 
the effect upon the commerce and 
wealth of Tennessee and Kentucky will 
be beyond computation. It is not an 
exaggeration to say that this great 
public benefit will be brought about 
largely because one public-spirited 


man believes that where energy and a 
good cause are joined together, fail- 
ure cannot follow. 

The Sixtieth Congress will contain 
in the Upper House two men who 
have risen from newsboys to their pres- 
ent high estate and that not through 
the power of wealth, but through per- 
sistence and proven merit. One of 
these, Charles Curtis, of Kansas, is 
entitled to every distinction which the 

Digitized by 




American people can bestow upon a 
thoroughbred American, for his father 
was an American soldier and his moth- 
er a member of the Kaw tribe of In- 
dians. He is, therefore, fitted by in- 
heritance to undertake the solution of 
the governmental problems in the 
Western part of our country, and he 
is by acquirement one of the best-read 
and most generally informed members 
of the Senate. He has served his state 
in the Lower House for fourteen 
years and has gained much valuable 
experience, which will enable him to 
handle his new work with ease and 


to this, Mr. Curtis' 

twenty-three years of political work 
in his state have given him the 
confidence and sympathy of his peo- 
ple. They know he is working for 
their interests, and he know s they be- 
lieve in him. With this mutual trust, 
Kansas cannot fail of great profit from 
her choice. 

When Mr. Curtis was bom, forty- 
seven years ago, the Indians were not 
the wards of the nation as now, and he 
had a rough-and-tumble youth. Al- 
ways ambitious, he attended school 
whenever he coi.ld and between times 
earned his living as a newsboy. He 

was also successively a boot-black and 
a jockey and was driving a public 
hack when he commenced the study 
of law. Two years later he was ad- 
mitted to the Kansas bar, and he then 
entered politics. A genial nature and 
a magnetic personality and a thorough 
knowledge of his fellow men made 
Mr. Curtis popular everywhere he 
went. In 1884 he was elected Prose- 
cuting Attorney of Shawnee County, 
and the vigor and integrity he dis- 
played in this position led the Kansas 
voters to send him to represent the 
Sunflower State in Congress. The 
probability is that 
he will continue in 
his present office 
as long as he cares 
to fill it. 

Mr. Curtis has 
the erect bearing, 
the lithe, muscular , 
figure and the coal- 
black hair and eyes 
of the typical In- 
dian. He is proud 
of his Kaw ances- 
try and never neg- 
lects the remnant of 
his race, now liv- 
ing on an Okla- 
homa reservation. 

Mrs. Curtis is in 
every way fitted to 
adorn and further 
her husband's ca- 
reer. Of a most 
gracious personali- 
ty, of unbounded 
hospitality and interest in questions of 
the day, she is a practical woman, with 
common-sense ideas on home-making 
and child-training. There are three 
bright, healthy children, the eldest, 
Permelia, now a senior at Wellesley 
College. Harry, the only son, is now 
in his third High School year at Wash- 
ington, where the youngest daughter 
is also a pupil. 

A citizen of the world, a deep stu- 
dent of social and political economy, 
a diplomat, an editor, and a success- 
ful planter, Mr. Van Leer Polk has re- 

Digitized by 




ture. During Mr. Cleve- 
land's second administra- 
tion he was appointed Con- 
sul-General at Calcutta and 
only resigned this position 
to take active part in the 
Bryan campaign. He was 
one of the delegates ap- 
pointed by President 
Roosevelt to attend the 
Pan-American Congress at 
Rio de Janeiro in 1906, and 
smce that time has devoted 
his energies to the upbuild- 
ing of the phosphate in- 


cently joined the movement for the de- 
velopment of the wonderful phosphate 
mines of his native section, . Middle 
Tennessee. Here, at the old Polk 
homestead, "Ashwood," he combines 
the broad hospitality for which the 
manor was once celebrated with the 
keen devotion to business necessary to 
the building up of mighty interests. 
Maury County phosphate rock is of 
the highest rank in the commercial 
world and its successful mining and 
sale bring additional prosperity to a 
county already famous as the home of 
the Hal pacers, Jersey cattle, and other 
blooded stock. 

The Polk family have always been 
prominent in the annals of the state 
and of the nation. Mr. Polk, after 
receiving his education at Rugby, in 
England, and at Rome, traveled exten- 
sively in Europe, Asia and Africa. 
He returned to his home and was chos- 
en to represent Maury and Lewis 
Counties in the Tennessee Legisla- 

The Fort family has con- 
tributed as much to the 
shaping of the history of 
Tennessee as any family in 
the state, William Fort 
being a delegate to the first 
Constitutional Convention, 
which met in Knoxville, in 
January, 1796, and from 
that time to the present 
day some member of this 
illustrious family has been 


Digitized by 




active in all things pertaining to af- 
fairs of state. 

Joel B. Fort was born in Robertson 
County, August 5th, 1854. As a lad, 
he worked on the farm and attended 
the common schools of his locality un- 
til 1872, when he entered Cumberland 
University, at Lebanon, from which he 
graduated with high honors two years 
afterwards. Returning home, he took 
up the practice of law and from the 
beginning took front rank with the 
ablest lawyers of the state: 

In 1887, he was elected to the State 
L^slature and so acquitted himself 
that in 1889, he was returned with an 
increased majority of votes. It was at 
this session that he was made Chair- 
man of the famous Farmers' Caucus 
in which Colonel House, A. S. Marks 
and General Bate contended so long 
for the United States Senatorship. 

Tiring of politics, he retired to his 
farm near the thriving little town of 
Adams, to devote his entire time to his 

chosen profession, and agricultural 

When the great movement for the 
protection of the tobacco growers was 
organized, Mr. Fort was one of the 
first to draw his sword in defense of 
the planters, and has ever since labored 
assiduously in their interests. Through 
his instrumentality protection associa- 
tions have been formed throughout the 
tobacco-growing districts of Tennes- 
see, Kentucky, and Virginia, and plans 
for mutually beneficial relations have 
been adopted. 

Mr. Fort is an earnest and convin- 
cing speaker. To his natural oratorical 
gifts he adds a thorougl] knowledge of 
the economic principles governing the 
world's tobacco market, and so well 
equipped is he for leadership in this 
work that his services are in great 
demand, and a large portion of his 
time is given up to organizing and di- 
recting the interests of the Planters' 
Protective Association. 



By Will Levington Comfort 

MONG the charac- 
ters of Kentucky, 
J) strenuous enough 
to force their names 
into books of his- 
tory, and who have 
kept the annals of 
their native state 
alive and significant, 
is "One-Armed" 
Sam Berry, of Boyle 
County, notorious among tiie guerril- 
las of the Qvil War. This is the story 
of a pale, studious schoolteacher, a 
classmate of Col. W. C. P. Breckin- 
ridge, of Lexington, who became a 
scourge and a firebrand, fit to be 

mentioned in the same breath with At- 
tila and Genghis Khan. 

Central Kentucky is ripe with remi- 
niscences of the "One-Armed." The 
trails he rode over; the bams from 
which he looted his thoroughbreds; 
the gun-shot scars in trees, porches, 
and window-casings which he made 
with his good right arm when he hap- 
pened to miss or go clean through a 
fellow citizen — ^these are pointed out 
still, and with no false shame — ^mudi 
the same as the landmarks of the 
James boys are shown to a wayfarer 
in Missouri. 

Samuel Oliver Berry came from a 
good family, which means something 

Digitized by 




m Kentucky. There wasn't a more 
docile, gun-shy or studious youth in 
all the rolling land. He would play 
marbles, but not for keeps. Inciden- 
tally, the elders of Boyle County, to- 
day, have all played marbles with one- 
armed Sam. He must have filled one 
decade pretty full of mibs, agates, 
glassies and agate-agates. His stom- 
ach revolted at the tfiought of killing 
a rabbit, and he was called to the car- 
pet repeatedly by the gang for being 
a milk and water, party. Still there 
was something about young Sam, 
some subtle phase of eye or hand, 
that kept his person bright with his 
pals. It is not on record that he ever 
turned loose in his boyhood days 
the fighting lust that made him great 
and formidable in the later days. 

And what does the pale, studious 
youth do at the end of his school days, 
but "take over" a school and teach 
boys and girls a step beneath him, the 
way to write and read and keep up 
their deportment averages ! He didn't 
gad anybody. His voice never rumbled 
over the township. His was a model 
school, a pious school. All incorrigi- 
bility in youth and maiden, however, 
died before his gray eye, which could 
freeze like liquid air, and on occasion, 
glow like radium. 


Up to this time, Sam Berry was 
not handicapped in body or brain. 
It was during a summer vacation, 
when cider activities were opening 
up in the little town of Perryville, 
that Sam obtained a position in a 
cider mill. During the second week of 
work, his left arm was chewed off 
in the machinery ; leisurely, thorough- 
ly, out-rooted at the shoulder. Sam 
tore himself free, and stood up with- 
out a whimper, but pale as death, un- 
til the doctor came, twenty minutes 
later. There was not enough of the 
arm left to afford room for a binding 
to stanch the flow of blood. Such an 
exhibition of nerve had never been 
seen in the county. 

This accident, it is claimed, soured 
Sam's temper somewhat. At least, it 

combined, with a later tragedy, to 
change the tenor of his life. He had 
scarcely healed when the war broke 
out, and the gray eyes boiled. Of the 
South, brain and bone and passion, 
was this so-far-controlled volcano. He 
tried to go out with a little detach- 
ment from Perryville, but was gently 
refused, on account of his disability. 
He went over to Lexington, and down 
to Memphis to enlist, but was refused 
in both places. Then the high seas of 
his rage broke over him. 


He was not to be denied the joy of 
waging war against the North. Per- 
ryville was astounded on one of those 
parlous mornings at the beginning of 
the war, to find that "One-Armed" 
Sam Berry had disappeared ; also Ro- 
anoke, one of the prettiest thorough- 
breds ever bred in Boyle O^unty. The 
stallion belonged to the man who had 
refused to take Sam for a Confederate 
soldier. At this point Sam's Southern 
oatriotism was considered a trifle ar- 
dent, even by his friends. 

Tales soon began to pour up from the 
battle-grounds of Sam's demoniacal 
prowess afield. He had become a 
sort of free lance in action — running 
amuck in the face of battle-Knes; do- 
ing hair-raising deeds of espionage, 
carrying messages through armed 
camps, and turning up like a crippled 
ghost in the moments of thickest ac- 


Kentucky swears that the war never 
produced his equal as a chance-taker 
and a lucky survival. Certainly he 
thrust his thrilling figure into the 
very vortices of action, again and yet 
again. History is more concerned 
with his later escapades. "One- 
Armed" Sam fretted in the winter's 
lull of '62 and '63. Camps of prepara- 
tion didn't please him. His strange 
soul was aroused. The blood-madness 
was a brimming fountain in his brain. 

Moreover, he couldn't forget Ken- 
tucky, where he had been turned 
down. He rode north from Tennessee 

Digitized by 




to the town of Bloomfield, Nelson 
County, and organized a band of 
euerrillas. Then 3ie Hyde in this pale, 
studious pedagogue began to revel. 
He stole horses; and when over- 
stocked, forced the owners at gun- 
point to buy them back at high prices. 
They say that he had round shoulders 
then; that he sat on his mount like a 
drunken sailor; that he demanded in- 
stant obedience and granite gameness 
from his followers ; tiiat the gray eyes 
glowed like a cat's in the dark. 


He burned his way back to Perry- 
ville with his men — ashes, destitution 
and death in his wake. This was 
"One-Armed" Sam's lone war. He 
was an enemy to the North and South 
now. The Federal soldiers closed 
about him on the raid, but he gave 
them the slip ; and on a quiet morning, 
early in 1864, the "One- Armed" and 
twelve men dashed into Perr3rville 
from the Mackville pike, yelling and 
firing in the true style of the open. 
Those valiant enough to offer resis- 
tance were shot down. 

"Every man of you, form into line !" 
the "One-Armed" yelled to the vil- 
lagers, with a curse like that which 
helped Ethan Allen to Ticonderoga. 
The townspeople, including many 
old friends of tfie schoolmaster, gath- 
ered in a ragged front before the En- 
terprise Hotel, a hundred or more, 
their hands raised heavenward, as re- 
quested. Sam and his twelve went 
through the company. Then the raid- 
ers dividedji six to stand guard, and 
six to loot the houses. 


There was a man named Richard 
Lester whom Sam wanted to kill. Les- 
ter wasn't in the line, nor in his house, 
but an old man, named Lawson, was 
found in the dining-room of Lester's 
house. In a fit of impatience at not 
finding his quarry, Sam killed the old 
man. Then the enterprising home- 
comer rode his horse into Wallace 

Green's drugstore and looted the cash- 
drawers from the saddle. Under the 
counter a man's figure was hunched. 
Sam let go a shot on general princi- 
ples, and routed the desired Lester, 
who dashed for the rear window, and 
took it with him, casing and all. The 
back of the building opens onto the 
Chaplain river, the bed of which was 
rock-covered, and twenty feet below 
the window which Lester demolished. 
By a miracle, the fleeing one missed 
the rocks and made good his get- 
away. At this moment, Sam encount- 
ered an uncle of his whom he had al- 
ways respected. ITiis was Henry Mc- 
Graw, who lived in Perr3rville until 
his death. 

"Sam, get out of here and let us 
alone!" McGraw commanded. 

"All right, Uncle!" the guerrilla re- 
sponded, riding out at the head of his 
men and shouting, "Forward !" 


Perr3rville was not yet through with 
her busiest day. Captain Fiddler and 
thirty-five Federal horsemen next 
"took" the town. They needed food 
and mounts and guns. They took 
what they needed; at least, what the 
"One-Armed" had left, and pushed 
on after the outlaw. Fiddler's meth- 
ods were somewhat different from 
Sam's, however, insomuch that the 
residents were afterwards paid for the 
stuff that the Federals seized. 


It was very little later that Berry 
and his men were run down. Sam was 
shot from his horse ; but did not give 
up until he was insensible. His cap- 
tors, it is said, allowed him partly to 
recover in the Union prison at Joliet, 
Illinois. The story told of his end is 
that he became incorrigible again, and 
was placed under a stream of cold 
water for discipline. At all events, he 
died under the heinous torture, and 
it is recorded, that the "One-Armed" 
is buried in the National cemetery on 
the outskirts of Joliet. 

Digitized by 


Drawing by Mayna T, Avent 

THE hunter's moon 

Digitized by 




The evening star hath set. 

Not yet 
The west grown grey 
Where little tongues of flame 

Proclaim : 
' Here died the Day." 

Tip-toeing winds the mossy pathways tread. 
Because the day is dead. 

Hush'd all the deepwood aisles. 

And grottoes where 
Dark shadows slowly sift 

On waters there. 

Beneath the late denuded poplar trees 
That whisper to the breeze. 

Now suddenly, behold f 

All gold 
The vale doth seem— 
A largess without stint, 

Falls on' the stream. 

And every dampened twig and blade of grass 
Appears a living jewel in the pass. 
For now upriseth bright 

The Hunter's Moon, 
Her shield alt polished. 

And red 
Her hunting shoon. 

As o'er the hills she riseth gracious-slow. 
Smiling the while upon the world below. 

Camp fires in the vale 

Grow pale 
Beneath her ray. 
Where huntsmen to the skies 

Their eyes 
Uplift and say : 

Hail to the Queen f " as through the forests ring 
The happy choruses of songs they sing. 

The Htmter's Moon once shone 

Days gone. 
Mayhap on one 
Who in a lonely wood 

Mute stood. 
As turned to stone. 

Before a stag, twixt whose dark antlers reared. 
The Holy Symbol of the Lord appeared. 
And she shed golden gleams. 

It seems. 
With lovely light. 
When Robin Hood was wont 

To hunt 
In Arden's night ; 

And o'er all Hunters she shall ever shine. 
Pair Dian—of the ancients held divine. 

Digitized by 



On the Squire's return to town, 
zealously urged by his mission to warn 
the officers of the law of the intended 
attack on the New Pike p^te, he felt 
that supreme elation of spirits belong- 
ing to a man who already scents splen- 
did victory in the near future. 

Indeed, it promised to be a double 
one, for not only would he be enabled 
to strike an effective blow at the raid- 
ers, whose warfare on the toll-gates 
threatened him with a considerable fi- 
nancial loss, but he would also have 
it in his power to crush one whose 
ever-unwelcome presence in the neigh- 
borhood seemed likely to deprive the 
Squire of winning a wife. 

The wily old man reasoned with 
himself that he would much prefer to 
have his nephew alive and in the peni- 
tentiary than simply dead. Incarcera- 
tion would prove a far more lasting 
and complete revenge than death. In 
death there would only come a quick 
oblivion to the Squire's victory, on 
the nephew's part, while in a long im- 
prisonment, which to the victim would 
be a living death, there would yet re- 
main a daily and hourly comprehen- 
sion of unhappy facts, besetting the 
helpless prisoner like a pack of hun- 
gry wolves attacking their prey — ^an 
ever-present hideous knowledge of his 

VEUMD vy/ito 

condition, and his 
mastery of the situa- 

sh, this growing hope 

lew in just such a liy- 

fanned the hatred of 

a glowing heat, and 

more determined that 

^.> «wOn feel the blighting 

power of his wrath, even though walls 
of massive stone, and behind barred 

All the way to town the old man 
fed his sluggish imagination by pic- 
turing his kinsman and rival thus im- 
prisoned, slowly eating away his heart 
in range and solitude, understanding 
full well that his sweetheart had be- 
come the wife of the man he most 
hated in all the world. Ah! what 
could be a greater punishment than 
this? Death would prove sweet com- 
pared to it. 

The Squire chuckled to himself in 
a sort of fiendish delight at the mental 
picture of anguish he had conjured up. 

In their last bitter quarrel, when the 
young man had been driven from the 
Squire's home, the nephew had bold- 
ly laughed in his uncle's face, taunt- 
ing him with his age and decrepitude, 
and declaring that he would yet win 
the girl in spite of all that the old man 
might do. 

Youth and manly beauty are a pow- 
erful offset to wealth and ag^ in the 
eyes of a young woman. The Squire 
understood this fully, and chafed un- 
der the knowledge, but he resolutely 
determined to see what craft and cun- 
ning could accomplish in the unequal 
struggle. He made up his mind to 
marry the pretty toll-taker, though 
there were a dozen importunate suitors 

Digitized by 




in the way. He would ruthlessly tram- 
ple them all underfoot, or sweep them 
aside, as he meant to do his nephew, 
showing neither pity nor mercy. 

Ofttimes perseverance is even more 
eflfective than love, and the Squire 
was not of the kind to be easily thwart- 
ed when he had once made up his mind 
to attain a desired result. Stubborn- 
ness and determination were his 
strongest characteristics. These two 
traits, cleverly united, have carried 
many a man to success. 

Deep down in his wicked old heart 
he had carefully considered the plan of 
having his nephew put quietly out of 
the way — the Squire knew a man that 
money could easily buy for this pur- 
pose — ^but the Squire disliked to part 
with money, and besides he did not 
care to place himself in a position to 
be bled by a hireling. 

For obvious reasons, therefore, it 
would serve his purpose much better 
if Milt got himself hopelessly en- 
tangled in the meshes of the law by 
his own acts, rather than the Squire 
should be accused of helping to bring 
about his nephew's ruin. There would 
be much less difficulty in winning the 
girl, the old man thought, ignorant of 
what she already knew. 

As matters now stood, everything 
was working beautifully to his interest, 
and with the exercise of a little di- 
plomacy, such as he well knew how to 
employ when occasion demanded, his 
plans would soon be happily accom- 
plished, and his nephew's downfall 
speedily brought about. 

When Squire Bixler got home again, 
after an interview with the sheriff, he 
replenished the fire, closed the shut- 
ters, and discarding his heavy boots 
for his carpet slippers, he gathered the 
papers about him, and sat down to 
read. Although his usual bedtime had 
passed, he only yawned occasionally, 
and consulted his heavy time-piece, or 
glanced at the tall clock in the 

Along toward the midhour of the 
night he suddenly aroused himself 
from the stupor of sleep that was be- 
ginning to lay hold of him, and. 

straightening himself in his arm-chair, 
listened attentively. 

A sound which seemed at first elu- 
sive grew clearer to his alert ear, 
arousing his drowsy faculties to fuller 
consciousness. It was an easy matter to 
interpret that sound aright — indeed, 
his ear had done so quickly. It was a 
welcome sound for which he had been 
impatiently listening all these long, 
weary hours, and it signified the raid- 
ers were abroad. 

The old man sat motionless, listen- 
ing intently. Qear and distinct, in 
measures musical as steel hammers on 
an anvil, came the rapid hoofbeat of 
horses along the pike, now louder 
where the open fields spread out on 
either side of the road, now dull and 
muffled when a hillock intervened. 

As the sound grew nearer the 
Squire hasily arose, and blowing out 
his candle went to the window and 
opened it. The body of horsemen 
were even then passing his avenue 

Now the raiders were climbing the 
little hill that arose between his place 
and the toll-house, each fall of the iron 
shoe seemed a sharp, clear note, 
played in staccato time, on the hard, 
white surface of the pike, then the 
notes grew less distinct, softened and 
shaded as by a soft pedal, when the 
raiders descended the farther side of 
the hill. They must soon be at the 
very gate. 

The Squire listened. There came a 
pause in the hoof music, then a soli- 
tary horseman took up the refrain. 
The listener recalled to mind the re- 
quest that his recent nocturnal visitor 
had made concerning this advance 
guard — that harm should not come to 
him — and a grim smile played over 
the old man's face as he silently hoped 
that this one, too, might fall. The 
Squire had urged upon the sheriff that 
no man should escape — not one. 

Suddenly a shot rang out — then an- 
other — two, three — a half-dozen. 
Quickly a volley poured forth, start- 
ling the night with clamorous echoes. 

The fight was on in fierce earnest- 

Digitized by 




ness between the raiders and defend- 
ers of the gate. 


The distance that Milton Derr had 
to go to reach the New Pike gate, 
from where the raiders halted and held 
parley, was but a short one, measured 
by paces, yet during that brief ride 
many irrelevant things came crowding 
fast upon his memory — indeed, it 
seemed that his whole life's history 
was swiftly reviewed in that brief pe- 

His boyhood days arose to his mind 
— those careless, happy days of early 
youth that were spent amid the wild, 
sweet freedom of the hills, from which 
he had just now ridden — ^the old 
schoolhouse in Alder Creek glen, that 
unforgotten spot where pretty Sally 
Brown had first ensnared his boyish 
heart and held it a willing captive ever 

He recalled to mind the sharp pang^ 
of jealousy Jade Beddow took a de- 
light in arousing in his youthful bo- 
som by showing marked attention to 
the object of their mutual admiration 
— then of gloomier matters, his moth- 
er's illness and her death, which had 
wrung his heart with the bitterest 
grief that had ever crept into his young 
life. There came to mind a memory 
of the subsequent home with his uncle 
— ^a home that meant little else than a 
mere shelter, and ah opportunity for 
much hard work, for the Squire was a 
grasping man, close and calculating, 
and required of every one the last 
atom of eflfort. 

Most clear in his memory was that 
eventful day when his uncle first 
learned that the smiles of the pretty 
toll-taker were rather for the nephew 
than for the uncle, and this discovery 
seemed suddenly to change the 
Squire's indiflference toward his ward 
into an intense hatred, which smol- 
dered for a while, then at last broke 
forth into a fierce flame of passion, 
when there was a bitter quarrel, and 
the yoimg man was driven from his 
uncle's roof, and went back to live 
amid his native hills once more. 

When Milton Derr made up his 
mind to join the raiders, he was ac- 
tuated by the two strongest passions 
that sway the human heart — love and 
hate. The first and uppermost one 
urged him to join the band in order 
that he might be able to influence the 
members to spare the New Pike gate, 
for the present, at least; the second 
made it evident that, by aiding in the 
general destruction of toll-houses 
Siroughout the county, and the abol- 
ishment of tolls, he would be in a po- 
sition to do his kinsman much dam- 
age, and aflfect the most vulnerable 
spot in evidence — ^his pocket Thus, 
in Derr's bosom, love and hate held al- 
most equal sway. 

All these things passed in hurried 
review through the rider's excited 
mind, like a fleeting: panorama, brief, 
yet clear and intense as the glimpse 
of a surrounding landscape seen by 
the flash of the lightning's path across 
the starless heavens. 

He once more recalled to mind the 
conversation that his sweetheart had 
overheard and repeated to him, which 
had taken place between his uncle and 
some unknown man upon the public 
highway. Could this mysterious per- 
son have been Jade Beddow, and had 
they arranged it between them to have 
him sent forward so thafhe might be 
shot, or taken prisoner? This was 
evidently the trap that had been so 
adroitlv set, and into which he was 
now riding, though not without pro- 

Won to this belief, he still rode on- 
ward unflinchingly toward the toll- 
house now looming up before him like 
a ghostly warning, and dimly outlined 
against the cold gray midnight sky. 

Nature herself seemed steeped in 
profound slumber at this wan, late 
hour, and neither life nor movement 
was visible about the place. The soli- 
tary horseman appeared to be the only 
living object in all that cheerless, dim- 
ly-defined landscape. There was no 
sign of danger on any hand, no sus- 
picious movement of a lurking enemy. 
The deep silence of night's midhour 
brooded over the quiet scene, and its 

Digitized by 




peace fell heavily upon it like the man- 
tle of darkness round about. 

The lone rider began to look about 
him with growing cwifidence. It was 
all so quiet, so still, so filled with the 
hush of midnight — surely the monition 
he had received that the gate would 
be guarded must have been built on 
mere rumor without the foundation of 

When he came to the gate, he found 
the pole up, as it was wont to be at so 
late an hour of the night, and after 
pausing a brief moment, thinking ten- 
derly of one within the darkened toll- 
house, he passed from under the raised 
pole; and rode a short distance along 
the road. 

Once again he paused, and looked 
back, and listened. No sight or sound 
betrayed the presence of guard or offi- 
cer. It must be that the posse had 
failed to materialize, believing the ru- 
mor of an impending attack mere idle 
talk. With a feeling of relief the 
horseman raised a whistle to his lips 
and blew a sharp call as a signal that 
the raiders might advance. 

In quick response the clatter of many 
hoofs came beating down the road in 
rythmic measure. 

Suddenly — ^breaking harshly into 
the musical ring of the hurrying hoof- 
beats — ^rang the discordant note of a 
shot from out the darkness, and quick 
upon it came another, while the ad- 
vance rider, startled and surprised by 
its unexpectedness, heard the bullet 
singing keenly past his ear. 

An answering fire from the oncom- 
ing raiders, shooting at random, seek- 
ing an unseen and hidden foe, awoke 
the echoes, and speedily a volley of 
shots from both raiders and guards 
filled the quiet night with tumultuous 

For a brief space of time Derr sat 
motionless on his horse, making no ef- 
fort to escape, stunned by the surprise 
of his attack, then realizing that a fight 
was really on, that the gate was imder 
guard, and, despite his warnings, the 
band had gotten themselves into a 
jeopardous situation, while he, being a 
sworn member, must now stand or fall 

with it. He turned quickly about and 
dashed back to join his comrades. 

The first shot had been the prema- 
ture discharge of a gun in the hands 
of a nervous guard, who had fired be- 
fore the raiders had reached the spot 
where the men lay in waiting. 

This, coupled with the fact that the 
stone wall behind which the guards 
were concealed, was on a stretch of 
ground sloping from the road, caused 
5ie later volley of shots fired on the 
raiders to speed harmlessly overhead, 
while the raiders' answering fire was 
quite as futile. 

The latter had been quick to respond 
to their unseen assailants, and had 
pressed on, reassured by the first sin- 
gle shot, but when met by a deter- 
mined volley, the captain gave orders 
for a hasty retreat, quickly realizing 
that the band had ridden recklessly 
into an ambush, and that the odds 
were greatly ap^inst his men. 

As the raiders turned, the advance 
rider dashed back to join them. Sev- 
eral bullets sang a keen note of dan- 
ger as he galloped by, but he was un- 

A little beyond the gate one of the 
riders fell, or was thrown from his 
horse, which seemed to stumble, then 
quickly regain his feet, and, riderless 
now, dashed along the road after the 
retreating band. 

As Milt came up, he suddenly 
checked his horse at the spot where 
the accident occurred, for the fallen 
man had risen to his feet, and was 
sorely in need of succor, since his horse 
had taken flight without him. 

As he stood in the road, a dark 
shadow on a light background, seem- 
ingly dazed and uncertain what to do, 
Derr pulled up alongside, and bracing 
himself in his stirrups, leaned forward 
and cried hurriedly, "Leap up behind 

The man quickly obeyed, though 
clumsily, for his right arm appeared to 
be of little service to him, but with 
the mounted man's assistance he man- 
aged to climib up behind, and throw 
one arm around his deliverer, then 
both men bowed low over the saddle, 

Digitized by 




yet not a moment too soon to avoid 
a parting volley fired at the two on 
the fleeing horse. 

"The rest rid off an' left me, but 
you risked your life to take me up," 
muttered Steve Judson, as they gal- 
loped on through the night. "Milt 
Derr, I promise y6u I won't forget to- 

"That's all right; hang on!" 


The lurking shadows along the stone 
wail suddenly grtv/ into animated 
forms, and the silence was brok- 
en by excited speech. The raiders 
faded as quickly into the night as they 
had come, while the faint echoes of 
retreating hoofs betokened a rapid 
flight of the band toward the hill coun- 

"Have we bagged any game?" 

The guards hastily scrambled over 
the rock fence after a parting volley 
had been sent after the last retreating 
horseman, who had tarried a brief 
while in his retreat, and each guard 
was eager to find an answer to the 
leader's question. 

"One man fell or dropped from his 
horse, I'll swear to that," the sheriff 
made reply, looking along the gloom 
of the road with expectant eyes. "We 
must surely have wounded one of 
them. It cannot have been a total loss 
of lead." 

"No, for I'm hit," a voice made the 
doleful assertion out of the darkness 
farther along the fence line. 

"Hello! Scott! Is that you? Are 
you much hurt ?" 

"Shot in the shoulder." 

"Is that so?" asked the sheriff con- 
cernedly. "I'll look after your case at 
once. Anybody else hurt ?" 

"I believe a bullet went through my 
hat and grazed my skull" — this a sec- 
ond voice tinged with grave anxiety. 

"If so, it probably flattened the bul- 
let," was the unfeeling remark of a 

The girl from the toll-house ap- 
peared just then on the platform — a 
gudden apparition, startled of face, and 

with a hand that shook perceptibly as 
she carried an old tin lantern. 

"Is anybody hurt?" she anxiously 

"A wound in the shoulder of one of 
our men ; nothing serious, I hope," and 
the sheriff came forward to reassure 

"And the raiders — what of them?" 
The girl's query was hastily made. 

"One fell from his horse, but we 
can find no trace of him. He seems 
to have escaped. Lend us your lan- 
tern," the sheriff added; "perhaps he 
crawled off into the weeds." 

"Here's a hat I found in the road !" 
The words came from an excited 

"Fetch it to the light!" This from 
the sheriff. 

The guard obeyed. As the hat was 
held close to the light of the lantern, 
which the girl held obligingly over the 
rail, the men crowded around, eager to 
examine the one trophy of battle. 

"There's blood on it!" some voice 
exclaimed. "We must have wounded 
one of the rascals at least. Likely he's 
in hiding now, close by." 

"Lend us your laijtern. Miss Sally." 

The sheriff reached out for it, but 
before his fingers closed over the han- 
dle, the girl's nervous hand suddenly 
relaxed its hold, and the lantern fell 
to the hard bed of the pike. The glass 
in the sides shivered as it struck, while 
the candle rolled out and was quickly 
extinguished in the white dust of the 
road. The girl became the picture of 

"Oh!" she cried, "just see what I 
have done !" 

"Perhaps it's the sight of blood. It 
makes some folks grovf faint." 

The sheriff spoke consolingly, pity- 
ing the girl's embarrassment, and cov- 
ertly regretting the accident. 

"I'm all upset!" acknowledged the 
pretty toll-taker frankly. She looked 
it, seemingly so innocent the while, one 
would scarcelv have suspected the ac- 
cident to have been hastily planned by 
woman's nimble wit, in order to g^in 
yet more time before a further search 
could be made for the wounded man. 

Digitized by 




When the hat was held uo to the 
light, the girl recognized it almost in- 
stantly as one Milton Derr was in the 
habit of wearing. He had worn it 
that very day when he passed through 
the New Pike gate. Its recent dis- 
covery by the guard, and the fresh 
stains of blood upon it, now filled her 
with sudden terror and consternation. 

Was Milton Derr among the raid- 
ers ? The hat was a silent witness to 
the fact Had her lover been wound- 
ed ? The blood stains eave conclusive 
evidence. Was it possible that Milt 
had ventured back with the raiders in 
the very face of the warning Sally had 
given him? Why had he risked so 
much ? Ah I was it for her sake? She 
asked herself this with a sudden glow 
in her heart, set aflame by her lover's 
devotion, and a quick resolve was 
formed to aid him in his present 

.Many perplexing thoughts arose. 
Why had he not in turn warned the 
raiders as she had expected him to do? 
Perhaps he had done so, but without 
avail. Could they have ignored the 
warning, or have forced him to come 
back with them? Possibly he came of 
his own accord to be of whatever as- 
sistance he could in the face of danger 
that threatened the inmates of the toll- 
house. The girl was in a sea of grave 
perplexities and conflicting thoughts. 

The voice of the sheriff close at hand 
broke into her bewildered train of 
thought and recalled her abruptly to a 
sense of her surroundings. 

"Miss Sally ! I have stepped on the 
piece of candle and broken it. Can 
you get me another?" 

"Yes, certainly ; 111 go at once," she 
answered hurriedly, glad to escape into 
the toll-house, where her mother was 
busied htmting bandages with which to 
dress the arm of the wounded man. 

"It seemed as if I'd never be able to 
find another piece of candle," said the 
girl in apology when she finally came 
out after quite a little search. "My 
wits have left me completely — I'm 

"Hadn't you better leave the hat 
with m^?" she asked with affected in- 

difference as the sheriff and his posse 
started' off with the light to look for 
the wounded raider along the road. 

"I might as well do so;" then, as 
he was about to comply, the sheriff 
added on second thought, "no, I'll take 
it along to shield the candle from the 
wind, now that the lantern glass is 

At the spot where the hat had been 
picked up the searchers found some 
dark splotches sprinkling the dust of 
the pike, as if blood had fallen there, 
but the owner of the lost hat was no- 
where to be found. The men searched 
carefully some distance along the way, 
and closely examined the patches of 
dusty weeds in the fence comers, but 
without reward. 

"I am positive one of the raiders 
carried him off," insisted the guard. 

"But for Gregory getting excited 
and firing before the raiders had got- 
ten in close range, we would certainly 
have killed or captured some of them, 
perhaps have bagged the whole band 
by closing in upon them from each 
end of the road. This comes of hav- 
ing green recruits," the sheriff added 

When the posse had gone with the 
lantern, Sally went once more into the 
house and began to assist her mother 
in caring for the wounded guard, but 
the girl's thoughts were far from be- 
ing centered on the object of her pres- 
ent skill and care, and she listen^'! 
momentarily and with growing anx- 
iety for additional news concerning the 
owner of the lost hat. 

Could it be that it was not Milton's, 
after all ? She felt almost positive that 
she had made no mistake in regard to 
its ownership, and she had suggested 
the leaving of the hat with her that she 
might give it a closer scrutiny and sat- 
isfy herself on this point. 

If the hat were really Milton Derr's, 
on the under lining, inside the band, 
was his name and hers, both done in 
red ink, along with an arrow-pierced 
heart, and the date on which the names 
had been written — September loth. 

There had been a little picnic on 
this date. She and Milton, along with 

Digitized by 




Sophronia and her beau, and a few 
others, had gone for an outing up in 
the hills. The usual rain that invaria- 
bly and maliciously awaits such gath- 
erings suddenly came up, and the party 
had taken shelter for a time in the old 
schoolhouse in Alder Creek glen — ^the 
veiy log building where Sally's first 
girlish fancy had been captured by 
Milt's dark eyes and ruddy face. Here, 
as a stripling, he had fought battles 
for his lady love, and Jade Beddow 
had sought in vain to supplant him 
in her affections. 

While the picnic party had waited 
for the rain to abate, Milt had usurped 
one of the children's desks, and writ- 
ten the two names on the inner lining 
of his hat-band, covertly showing the 
result of his skill to Sally. 

If these names should be discovered, 
and discovery was imminent, it would 
clearly fasten the ownership of the hat 
on Milton Derr, even if no one could 
identify it otherwise. She felt a grow- 
ing eagerness to get possession of the 
hat, and tear out the tell-tale lining, 
yet she dared not betray her anxiety, 
lest it arouse suspicion and hasten the 
discovery she would gladly avert. 

In the midst of her uncertainties 
and fears she caught sound of Squire 
Bixler's voice outside the toll-house. 

He had hurriedly put on his shoes 
and great coat, and ridden over to the 
gate to learn the results of the fight 
between raiders and guards, prudently 
waiting, however, until the firing had 
ceased; and he had heard, with deep 
disappointment and regret, the retreat- 
ing hoofbeats of horses galloping to- 
ward the hills. Despite the sound, he 
hoped that one raider at least had been 
left behind. 

The Squire's chagrin was poignant 
when he learned that not a single mem- 
ber of the band had been either killed 
or captured, and that the sole spoil of 
battle, on which he had so largely 
counted, was but a g^ay felt hat, 
streaked with blood, that had been 
picked up in the middle of the dusty 

"By heaven!" cried the Squire 
wrath fully, when this single trophy 

was shown him, "111 find the owner of 
that hat and punish him, if it takes 
every detective in the state to help me 
to do it." 


The morning following the exciting 
experiences of the raiders' attack and 
repulse at the New Pike gate," soon 
after the clearing away of the break- 
fast dishes, Sally, on the alert, caught 
sight of Squire Bixler's buggy coming 
over the hill, the loose side-curtains 
morning breeze like the wings of some 
idly flapping to and fro in the fresh 
bird of ill-omen. Indeed, she felt, on 
seeing the vehicle, that its very ap- 
pearance presaged evil, if not to her, 
at least to one very dear to her. 

Usually she let her mother open the 
gate to the Squire if his coming was 
noticed in time for an avoidance, but 
this morning she made it convenient 
to be out on the platform, sweeping 
away industriously, when he drove up. 

"Good morning. Miss Sally ! I sup- 
pose you are quite glad to find your- 
self alive, and with the toll-house roof 
still over you." 

"Yes," she answered promptly, 
"glad and grateful, too !" 

"What brings you out so early this 
morning?" she asked, smiling pleasant- 
ly on the Squire as she raised the gate 
which had so fortunately escaped the 
raider's axe the night previous. 

"Business," answered he with em- 
phasis, "important business. Before 
the day is over, I hope to have a war- 
rant served on the owner of that hat 
which was picked up last night. If I 
can get only one of the rascals caught 
and safely jailed, it will not be such a 
difficult matter to ferret out the rest 
of the gang." 

"Have you discovered an)rthing 
more?" asked Sally, trjring to disguise 
the anxiety in her tooes as she made 
the inquiry. 

"Nothing definite, although there's 
one man among the guards who thinks 
he can identify the hat. I'm taking it 
to town now to show to the merchant 
that probably sold it." 

Digitized by 




The g^l's heart sank within her at 
the words. It would be little short of 
a miracle if the tell-tale names were 
not found and the hat's ownership 

While the Squire was. speaking, 
Mrs. Brown came out on the platform. 

"Let me see that hat," she said. "It's 
likely I may know the wearer myself. 
I was so busy last night attendin' to 
George Scott's arm that I didn't do 
more than glance at the hat." 

The squire handed out a package 
done up in a piece of newspaper, 
which Mrs. Brown opened, and taking 
the hat held it up at arm's length, 
perched on her outspread fingers, view- 
ing it critically, her head slightly 

"I've seen that hat before," she said 
thoughtfully; "now who was a-wear- 
in' it?" 

"There's likely a hundred such hats 
in the county," interposed Sally 
quickly. "I've seen a dozen or more 

"No, you don't see so many of these 
light gray felts," avowed her mother, 
bringing the hat nearer. "Mebbe it's 
got a cost mark, or the maker's name ; 
that would tell a body more concemin' 

She turned the hat upside down and 
looked carefully at the lining. 

"Let me take it into the house and 
brush some of the dust off it," inter- 
posed Sally hastily, fearing every mo- 
ment that the hidden names would be 
revealed, under her mother's inquisi- 
tive scrutiny. 

"No! no! let it be, just as it is," said 
•the Squire, perchance put on the alert 
by Sally's manner, and suspicious of 
her ill-concealed desire to get the hat 
in her possession. 

"Look here! what's this on the un- 
derside of the lining of this band?" 
asked Mrs. Brown, as she ran her fin- 
gers around the inside of the crown, 
and pulled down the lining. "It looks 
like writing, only it's red," she added, 
squinting her eyes after the manner of 
one whose vision has b^^ to fail. 

At tfiat moment Sally felt as though 

she fairly hated her mother's prying 

"What is it, SaUy ?" asked her moth- 
er ; "your eyes are yoimger than mine." 

The girl, after a careless glance, but 
with a sickening sense of fear taking 
possession of her as she recognized the 
arrow-pierced heart and the two names 
written underneath, answered in as 
calm and collected voice as she could 
command, "It lodes like streaks of 

She 'partly averted her face as she 
spoke, for she felt that her mother or 
the Squire would read in her very eyes 
the secret she- was striving to hide. 
There was no longer a doubt of the 
hat's ownership. It was Milton's Derr's 
beyond all questioning, and the dis- 
coveiy of his name and hers written 
therein was now but a matter of brief 
delay, as the Squire's next words 
seemed to indicate. 

"I'll have it closely examined when 
I get to town. It will not be a hard 
matter to locate its owner, I think." 

"Would you mind giving me a seat 
to town?" asked the girl suddenly, be- 
set with a new resolve. 

"Certainly not." The Squire was 
plainly tickled. "I'll be only too glad 
of your company," he said, smQing 

"What's goin' to happen?" asked 
Mrs. Brown wonderingly. It was a 
new mood for Sally. 

"I've just thought of something that 
I've got to do, an'd if the Squire'U take 
me sdong with him, it'll save me the 
trouble of saddling Joe. I'll be ready 
as soon as I get my cloak and hat," 
added she, disappearing in the house. 

"Humph!" exclaimed Mrs. Brown, 
looking first after her daughter, then 
at the Squire. "This looks a little as 
if Sally was comin' to her senses at 

"Just give her a little time, my dear 
madam, a little time," advised the 
Squire, smiling all over his fat, red 
face. "She'll come around all right by 
and by." 

When the Squire and Sally drove 
off, she seemed lost in thou^t, and 
only answered in monosyllables to her 

Digitized by 

Google I 



companion's gallant attempts to be 

''What's, the matter, Miss Sally?" 
he asked at last^ piqued at her silence 
and indiflference. "You act as if you 
might be in love," he added with a 
jocose look. 

"Perhaps I am," acknowledged Sal- 
ly, turning the full battery of her pret- 
ty eyes upon her companion, until his 
pulse quickened as it had not done in 
years. He made an effort to speak, but 
the words failed him, and he only 
edged a little closer to her. For a 
wonder, she did not attempt to draw 
farther away. Was she really coming 
to her senses, as her mother had pre- 
dicted ? 

"Do you remember the ride we took 
a few weeks ago, an* what you said to 
me ?" she asked slowly, and with avert- 
ed eyes. 

"My dear, I have thought of little 
else, I do assure you," answered the 
Squire promptly, suddenly finding 
speech, now that the dazzling battery 
was withdrawn. 

"Well, I have thought a good deal of 
it myself of late," admitted Sally 
thoughtfully. "You profess to think 
a lot of me, but I expect you would 
refuse me the least little favor I might 
ask of you." 

"Have you usually found me a hard- 
hearted old skinflint?" asked the 
Squire reproachfully. 

"Fve never put your kindness to a 
very great test, as yet. I thought 1 
would begin with asking a little favor. 
You wouldn't refuse me that now, 
would you ?" 

The girl looked up smiling into the 
old man's face, and brought all the co- 
quetry at her command into play. 

"What is the favor?" asked the 
Squire shrewdly. "I never like to 
make a promise till I know what I'm 

"It's about the smallest possession 
you have, and the one least valuable 
to you." 

"Well, what is it?" 

"I want the hat that wa^ oicked up 
last night." 

"Hum — m — m!" said the Squire 

meditatively. "In what manner does 
that hat concern you ?" 

"How it concerns me, does not ccwi- 
cem you," retorted the girl promptly, 
with an arch glance. 

"I don't know about that What- 
ever concerns you, concerns me deep- 
ly, ducky!" 

"Will you give me the hat?" persist- 
ed Sally. 

"You fear it will be recognized?" 
ventured the Squire, and the girl 
winced under the words. "Well, it 
will be, before I've done with it Of 
course I know it's that rascally Milt's 
hat," added the Squire shrewdly fol- 
lowing up the clue the girl's manner 
and request had given him. "Haven't 
I seen him wear it, time and again? 
He had it on Court day," hazarded the 

He noted the quick start his com- 
panion gave, and the look of fear that 
overspread her face and crept into her 
eyes. A sudden thought occurred to 
him. He was now in a better positicm 
to strike a bargain than he soon would 
be again. 

"Now, suppose we put this matter 
on a strictly business footing," he said 
blandly. "You want the hat and I 
want a wife. A fair exchange is nt> 

"Don't say that!" exclaimed Sally, 
as though a sharp pain had suddenly 
entered her heart. "You are cruel!" 

"Not in the least!" retorted the 
Squire. "It's you that's cruel, my 
dear! You have it in your power to 
make me the happiest of men, and in- 
cidentally keep a friend of yours out 
of the penitentiary. The whole mat- 
ter rests with you." 

The girl made no answer. 

"The case stands thus," he persisted. 
"If my nephew is a lawbreaker, he de- 
serves punishment. As I am president 
of this road, and a large stockholder, 
too, and he's doing his utmost to in- 
jure and destroy my property, I fail to 
see why I should show him any sympa- 
thy or favor. If I do, it will be solely 
on your account, not his. It's up to 
you whether Milt goes free or is pun- 

Digitized by 




"On just what conditions will you 
let him go free?" asked the girl quick- 

"On your promise to marry me." 

"Oh, no!" she cried sharply, "not 

"Just that," msisted the Squire. 

"And if I don't promise?" she asked 
in a low tone. 

"It puts him in a place where you 
can't marry him," answered her com- 
panion promptly. 

They drove on in silence until the 
edge of the town was reached. 

"Here we are in town," the Squire 
said. "Shall I drive you to the sher- 
iff's office with me?" 

"Why are you going there?" asked 
his companion faintly. 

"To give up this hat and swear out a 
warrant for its owner." 

"Don't go!" pleaded Sally. 

"It all rests with you as to whether I 
go or not," replied the Squire, his 
bold, unpitying eyes bent full upon 
her. "Milt can either be a free man 
or a felon — which shall it be?" 

His eyes were fixed on hers in a 
concentrated gaze that seemed to fas- 
cinate her like the gaze of the wily 
serpent charms the ensnared bird. 
There was a confused buzzing in her 
head, a thousand small voices crying 
out, "Save Milt! Save Milt!" Her 
very power of will appeared to be ebb- 
ing away. She saw only those hard, 
unyielding eyes, she heard only those 
inner voices crying out in her lover's 

"Ill promise!" she faltered. 

"When?" asked the Squire. 

"I don't know, some of these days," 
she cried desperately, quite at her wits' 

"That's too indefinite," insisted her 
companion. "S'pose you marry me a 
week from to-day?" 

"Oh! no! no! not that soon! Give 
me a little more time," she pleaded. 
Something would surely come to her 
aid, if she gained time, she knew not 
what. A wild thought came into her 
head that perhaps she might yet nm 
away with her lover. At all events, a 
delay would give him time to get 
away, whether she went or not. 

"Two weeks, then," said the Squire 
slowly, "no longer." 

"Well," she said faintly. 

"Then you'll agree to marry me?" 

"Yes," she answered recklessly. 

"Two weeks from to-day?" he in- 

"Yes," she answered again, her 
voice dropping almost to a whisper. 

"All right ! A bargain's a bargain !" 
cried the Squire gleefully. "I'll drive 
to the sheriff's and tell him I lost the 
hat coming to town." 

"Give it to me!" asked the girl 

"Oh, no, my dear, not yet!" he an- 
swered, with a grimace, thrusting the 
bundle into an inner pocket of his 
great-coat. "I'll just keeo it next to 
my heart as a reminder of your prom- 
ise. I'll give it to you the morning 
of our wedding — as a token of love 
and affection," added he with a 
chuckle of satisfaction. 


A larger number than usual of pos- 
sible customers and evident idlers were 
gathered at Billy West's country store 
on the Tuesday morning following 
Court Day, discussing the latest news. 

The building was a small one-room 
frame, set in an angle made by the 
Willis Mill dirt lane and the New 
Pike, an ideal spot for an exchange of 
news, often bordering on gossip, and 
a convenient halfway resting place for 
those homeward bound, or else on 
their way to mill or town. 

The proprietor's small stock of mer- 
chandise consisted of a heterogeneous 
collection, well suited to the needs of 
the locality, and ranging in variety 
from knitting needles, for the indus- 
trious matron at her fireside in the 
IcMig winter evenings, to plow-shares, 
which her sturdy spouse might grasp 
when the soil demanded tilling in the 
spring. The varied mixture of farm- 
ing implements, groceries and clothing 
presented the appearance of having 
been deposited by some friendly pass- 
ing whirlwind, for the owner was of 
far too sociable a nature to devote 
much time to "stock-keeping." 

Digitized by 




When an article was wanted, it gen- 
erally had to be hunted for, unless it 
chanced to fall under the immediate 
range of vision of salesman or cus- 
tomer, while the crowded shelves and 
counters presented a bewildering ar- 
ray of tinware, glassware, patent medi- 
cines, clocks, trimmed hats, chums, 
gaudy neckwear, cheap clothing, mock 
jewelry, hair-oils and colored per- 
fumes put up in glass bottles of se- 
ductive shapes, along with sundry ar- 
ticles great and small necessary to the 
needs and adornment of the people of 
the surrounding country. 

It was not for lack of time that Billy 
allowed his stock to fall into this 
chaotic confusion, for he had much 
leisure on his hands, but, as I have be- 
fore remarked^ he was of a sociable 
nature, and usually spent his spare mo- 
ments tilted back in a well-worn chair 
under a locust tree, if the weather was 
warm, indulging in neighborhood 
news, or else was engaged in an ex- 
haustive argument with his circle of 
solons as to how the government 
should be properly run. 

If the season necessitated shelter, the 
usual coterie removed its sittings to the 
rear of the store, while .'uring the rig- 
orous winter months checker-pla3ring 
afforded amusement, the board being 
of white pine, home-made, in alternate 
inked squares, and the checkers of 
black and white horn buttons supplied 
from the general stock. 

On the morning I have mentioned, 
the air was yet cool from a frosty 
night, but the sun shone brightly, giv- 
ing promise of speedy warmth, as the 
day advanced, and the little company 
chose the sunlight, being sheltered 
from the breeze by the front of the 
building, which faced the east. 

Moses Hunn, an old stager, was 
descanting on the previous night's 
raid, having first borrowed a chew of 
long-green tobacco from his nearest 
neiehbor. Moses was an inveterate 
chewer and had been relying on his 
friends for tobacco for the last twenty 

"Yes, sir, they say them night-riders 
fit like wild cats." 

'The guards didn't seem to be of 
much use," interposed Billy. 

"They were pretty good at stopping* 
bullets," Moses averred. "Ge<M^ 
Scott was shot three times in the leg 
an* twice in the body, I heard, an' 
four T)ullets grazed Joe Waters' 

"It must be bullet-proof," a voice in- 

"The news is they've shot one of the 
riders, too. Leastways, blood was 
found on the pike, an' also on a hat 
one of the raiders dropped." 

"Any of you wearin' new hats this 
mornin'?" asked Billy with an affect- 
ed show of inspecting the head-gear 
of the crowd. 

"I noticed Mose limpin' as he come 
up," a voice declared. 

"Mose has been drawin' a pension 
for that same limp for a good many 
years past, so I don't think the guard's 
can be charged with that'^ affirmed 
the storekeeper. 

"Well, folks seem bent on havin' 
free roads," remarked the owner of 
the limp, as he sighted a knot-hole 
in a box near by, and, with the aim of 
a practiced chewer, adroitly sent a 
squirt of tobacco juice through it. 

"Yes, an' I'm mightily afraid folksTl 
have the worst of the bargain when 
they do get free roads," answered Bil- 
ly, with a dubious shake of his head. 
"We won't have no such good roads 
as we've got now." 

"Free roads'll make dead agin 
you, Billy," insisted Mose. "I'm not 
blamin' you for not favorin' 'em, for 
when folks can go to town, an' it not 
costin' 'em a cent, of course they're 
goin' so you'll lose many a good nickle 
that now drops in your till." 

"How did the sheriiSf get wind of 
the raid?" asked Billy, dianging an 
unpleasant subject. 

"There must be a traitor." 

"Lordy ! I wouldn't care to be in his 
shoes if they ever find him." 

"They'll find him all right enough." 

"An' swing him, high as Haman." 


Along in the evening, soon after 
sundown, Billy West closed his store 

Digitized by 




a full half-hour earlier than usual, and 
went to his boarding house, not a 
great distance away. A little later he 
might have been seen cantering down 
the pike on his chestnut filly, arrayed 
in his best suit, and wearing the red- 
dest and most conspicuous necktie his 
stock afforded, while the oily smooth- 
ness of his locks, and the odor of cheap 
cologne that hung persistently about 
him, announced the fact that he was on 
pleasure bent To one acquainted with 
the state of his affections, it was an 
easy matter to guess that old man 
Saunders' was his probable destina- 

This proved to be the case. Only 
the day before he had made an engage- 
ment with Sophronia to escort her to 
the New Pike gate, where she was to 
spend the night with her bosom friend, 
Sally, then go on to town the next day 
to do some shopping. 

"I scarcely knew whether to come 
for you or not, after what happened 
last night," said the cavalier apologetic- 
ally, when he reached Mr. Saunders', 

"I couldn't have blamed you, if you 
hadn't come," declared Sophronia 
frankly. "Is it safe to go?" she asked 
in sudden perplexity. 

"I don't think you'll be disturbed to- 
night, after the failure the riders made 
last night There's an old sayin' that 
lightnin' seldom strikes twice in the 
same place." 

"But night-riders may," insisted So- 

"I doubt it Even if they should 
come, they wouldn't want you. I real- 
ly don't know of but one person that 
does," Billy added with an engagingly 
meaning look. 

"I could name half a dozen, at 
least," retorted Sophronia, with a co- 
quettish toss of her head, as her cava- 
lier assisted her to mount. 

Sally was most glad to see her visi- 
tors, for she earnestly hoped through 
Sophronia or her beau, at least, to 
learn something of Milton Derr — 
whether there were any rumors of his 
being hurt, or if either of them had 
seen him since yesterday. If not, it 
augured ill for the owner of the blood- 

stained hat which had been picked up 
in the road near the toll-house. 

Finally, when her mother had gone 
out of the room, Sally hurriedly asked 
concerning the young man, and on 
learning that he had not been seen, she 
added that she had an important mes- 
sage for him, and asked Billy to tell 
him so within the next day or two, if 

That night in the privacy of her 
room, and under a promise of the 
deepest secrecy on Sophronia's part, 
Sally confided to her bosom friend the 
besetting fear that Milt had been 
wounded the night before. 

"Try and see him for me. If he's 
much hurt, let me know at once, but if 
he isn't, tell him to leave here as quick- 
ly as possible, that he is strongly sus- 
pected of being a raider, and to go 
away before any arrests are made. Tell 
him to go at once." 

"How did you find out about the 
night-riders coming?" asked Sophro- 

"Through Squire Bixler. He's got 
a spy that's keeping him posted, and, 
I believe, this spy told him they would 
come last night." 

"How do you know there's a spy?" 
asked her friend thoughtfully. 

"I overheard him talking to the 
Squire one day when I was hid behind 
the stone wall that runs along the 
pike," and straightway the girl related 
the^ whole occurrence to her friend. 
"It's a hatched-up plot between the 
Squire and this man to get Milt into 
trouble," she added in conclusion. 

"Didn't you see who the other man 
was?" asked Sophronia, beginning to 
connect this fact with some other cir- 
cumstances in her mind, as links are 
added to a chain. 

"No, I was afraid to peep over the 
fence for fear they might see me." 

"Could it have been Jade Beddow?" 

"No, I would have known his voice. 
It wasn't him, I'm certain of that. 
There was something about the man's 
voice that held a familiar sound, as if 
I had heard it before, but I can't place 

Digitized by 




**Do you think you would recognize 
it if you should hear it again?" 

"Yes, Vm sure I should." 

"Then I b'lieve I can run that spy to 
the ground," said Sophronia decisive- 
ly. "I believe I know the man, an' the 
place where he's buried the money he 
got for telHn' on the raiders." 

"You don't say!" cried Sally, in 
open-eyed wonder. 

"Yes," answered her friend imoul- 
sively. "You go back with me to- 
morrow noon, when I come from town, 
an' I'll take you to the very spot, an' 
show you the very man." 
[To be continued] 


By Medicus Ransom 

THE young man in the flannel 
trousers, the blue shirty and 
the Panama hat stopped be- 
low the vine-clad piazza, and 
uttered a low, musical whistle. Then 
he looked expectantly upward, but 
there was no response save the sud- 
denly insistent clicking of a type- 
writer beyond the screen door. Again 
the young man whistled. The click- 
ing became louder and faster. The 
tasks of the operator were evidently 
arduous this morning. A shadow df 
impatience passed over the young 
man's brow as he dug a hole in the 
soft earth with the small end of his 
oar, but he continued to whistle. 

"What do you want?" The tone 
was that assumed by busy housewives 
toward book agents or census takers. 

The young man looked up quickly. 
The clicking had ceased, and a young 
woman was leaning over the vine- 
clad banisters. The blackest quality 
of black ink smeared the ends of her 
small, white fingers, and a formidable 
scratch tablet, which might very easily 
have been left inside, was held con- 
spicuously in her hands. A frown of 
disapproval and imrelenting impa- 
tience only served to lend an addi- 
tional piquancy to her saucy beauty. 

For a moment tlie young man con- 
templated the wonderful effect of the 
summer morning sunlight on the fine- 
spun hair of the ambitious authoress. 
She in turn was struggling to main- 
tain a business-like frown in spite of 

the boyish tanned face looking up at 

"Oh, a great many things generally, 
and one thing in particular," was the 
deferred answer. 

"Please be more specific Doubt- 
less you have observed that I am en- 
gaged." The authoress turned the 
pages of the tablet ostentatiously. 

"Yes. That is just why I stopped. 
However, I felicitated the Professor 
on my way down. I believe he de- 
serves all the congratulations." For 
the moment the thick pad appeared in . 
danger of being appropriated as a mis- 
sile, with the young man's head as 

"If you've only stopped to tease, I 
must tell you I haven't time to waste, 
as some of my friends seem to have," 
said the authoress indignantly. 

"Yes, some of them do waste a heap 
of time. I noticed the Professor re- 
clining in the hammock with his palm 
leaf this morning," replied the inno- 
cent loiterer. 

"If I were really going to be idle I 
think I should choose that quiet way 
rather than spending all my energy on 
a tiresome boat in this August sun,'* 
The young woman spoke in a careless 
tone and looked longingly toward the 
deep mountain stream beyond the 

"Then you really won't join me for 
a glide to Boiling Spring? Well, as 
the Spencer girls are in town to-day, 
I'll have to make out alone. Perhaps 

Digitized by 




this box of bonbons will sweeten soli- 
tude/' The tempter drew from his 
generous pocket an alluring white box 
tied in tinsel cord. For a moment the 
axiflict between literary ambition and 
temporal delights was plainly in the 
balance^ but the former gained head- 

"Perhaps it will, but I cannot af- 
ford to lose more time now. The cli- 
max in 'The Voice of the Wild Wind' 
had just been reached when you whis- 
tled, and there is nothing which so 
robs an author of inspiration as in- 

"Oh, then I am 'the man with the 
pigs,' and you are going to profit by 
Coleridge's example. Was it 'Chris- 
tabel' or 'Kubla Khan' which he was 
writing when the 'man with the pigs' 
interrupted him, and deprived the 
world of the completion of a master- 

"Yes; you're 'the man with the pigs,' 
but I sha'n't allow you to haul me ten 
miles across country and break into 
my work; so good-bye." 

The authoress disappeared beyond 
the screened door, but instead of re- 
suming her seat before the t)rpewriter 
immediately, she peeped through the 
window at the hearty young batman 
swinging his oar as he vanished down 
the hill toward the river. 

"He does not play the role of de- 
jected suitor at all properly," said the 
genius of "The Voice of the Wild 
Wind" to herself as she entered again 
upon the stirring climax. 

The long hours of the sultry morn- 
ing dragged on, but the clicking of tlic 
typewriter was somewhat spasmodic, 
and the "Voice of the Wild Wind" 
had died down rather abruptly. The 
fur-coated, black-bearded hero had 
been strangely transformed into a 
clean-shaven, tanned young man in 
flannel trousers, blue shirt, and Pana- 
ma hat. . The plaintive moaning of the 
wind was mingled with a melodious 
whistle, and the gold-headed cane of 
the angry sire was nothing more than 
a long oar. Inspirations of two dis- 
tinct kinds were in conflict, and one 
of them was rapidly outdistancing the 

Beneath the cool shade of the syca- 
more tree a young man lay dreaming 
— day dreams. The water lapped 
against a securely fastened boat A 
box of bonbons, whose wrappings of 
tinsel were untouched, lay in the grass 
near by. Down the hillside a young 
woman, whose fine-spun hair was 
shaded by a broad-brimmed hat, was 

"I thought you were boating," she 
called in a surprised tone. 

"And I thought you were writing," 
was the jovial reply. 

Her air of affected surprise van- 
ished. She took off her hat and sat 
down beside him, looking smilingly at 
the swift current. 

"Then I am 'the man with the 
pigs,' " said he, reaching for the bon- 
hm. box and untying the tinsel cord. 

Digitized by 



By William McDonald Goodman 

'^HUT dat tale 'bout 
^ dem boys drappin' 
^ dey ole cripple dad- 
% dy?" Aunt Martha 
% inquired, after Uncle 
^ Adam had succeeded 
^. in describing satis- 
factorily the manner 
in which he would 
run if he should 
chance to meet the 
Black Giant Ghost. 

*'Dat's hit, dat's hit," he replied. 
"Dat ve'y tale des show how er pus- 
son'll do when dey git skeerd, ha'nt er 
no ha'nt. Dat ole man 'uz one er dese 
Yankees whut nuver is heerd 'bout no 
sich things. I 'members one onc't 
whut cum down Souf, en when de 
white fo'ks here tell him dat de nig- 
gers sees ha'nts he 'low dey ain't got 
no bizness er 'skuze'n de niggers er dat 
kinder foolishness— des like white fo'ks 
down here ain't live long 'nuff 'mungst 
'em to know what dey talkin' 'bout 
betler'n whut dey do. En dat ain't 
all. You show me er white pusson 
whut's been raise up whar dar's nig- 
gers on de plan'ation, en I'll show you 
er white pusson whut is seed er ha'nt 
Dat's de Gawd's trufe, ef it eber b'en 
tole. Dis y'er Yankee whut been raise 
whar dey ain't no niggers ner ha'nts, 
come down here en tell de white fo'ks 
dis, but he went 'possum huntin' wid 
some niggers one night, en he ain't 
sayd dat sence." 

"Dey run'd ercros't er ha'nt?" she 

"In co'se'n dey run'd ercrost er ha'nt. 
Is you uver heerd uv er passel er nig- 
gers gwine 'possum hunt'n' 'd'out find- 

in' simip'n' else 'sides er 'possum ? Ef 
you is, I ain't. Dem niggers dis time 
seed one, en de white man seed it, 
too, en he de fo'mos' uv de lot g^ine 
fer home. Dem kinder fo'ks'!! I'am 
sump'n' 'bout niggers whut dey don't 
know ef dey cum down here en cir- 
kerlate deyse'ves roun' ermongst 'cm 
erwhile. I'l! leave it to de crowd. 
You cain't find nairy ole-timey nigger 
in de country whut ain't seed Ita'nts, 
en mighty few uv de young 'uns. 
Ain't dat so?" 

"Yes, Lawd! I Icnow dey heap er 
lies tole Iwut ha'nts, lak dey is 'bout 
eb'rything else mos', but dar's ha'nts 
all de same," Aunt Martha replied. 

"In co'se'n dey is. I know dat," he 
agreed. "Now dis ole cripple man 
whut ye ax 'bout, he didn't b'leevc in 
sich things, en he tole his two sons ef 
dey uver run'd ercrost one fer ter come 
en take him dar en let him see it He 
hadn't been able to walk in seb'n 
year, en all dat time he lay in bed and 
hatter be fed wid er spoon. He knowed 
he couldn't go nowhar, en he tell his 
sons ef dey uver see a ha'nt fer ter 
cum en take him dar ter see it, too, 
kaze he nuver did b'leeve in 'em. Dat 
whut he tell 'em, en one night dey run 
in de house en say dat dey pass er 
graveyard en seed er ha'nt settin' on er 
toomstone eat'n' chestnuts, er sump'n' 
en he make 'em take him on dey 
shoulders en go dar wid him. 

"Now, de ha'nt whut his sons seed 
in de graveyard wa'n't no ha'nt. Hit 
seem lak three white men went out 
dat night to steal er sheep. Two uv 
*iim v.ent alter de sheep, en one stop 
in (le graveyard en wait fer 'um ter 

Digitized by 




cum back wid it en butcher it dar 
whar nobody wuz likely ter see 'um. 
Dat 'un whut stop in de graveyard 
tuck er seat on er toomstone en sot 
dar eatin' chestnuts, en he de ha'nt 
whut de ole man's sons see. He sot 
dar, he did, waitin' fer de res' ter 
cum back wid de sheep, en he see de 
boys totin' de ole man on dey shoul- 
ders en he thought dat *uz dem. He 
look en see 'um, he did, en he call out : 

"'Fat er lean?' — meanin' de sheep. 

"When he holler dat de ole man's 
sons say, Tat er lean, you kin have 
him,' en dey drap dey daddy en split 
fer home. 

"Genterm^wj, dat ole cripple man 
whut hadn't walk nairy step in seb'n 
year er mo' pick hisse'f up f'um dar 
en 'uz de fus' pusson inside de house 
when dey reach de do'." 

"I'se heerd dat tale mo' times," said 
Aunt Martha. "Skeerd to def en no 
ha'nt dar nuther. Dat po' ole man! 
I des laugh en laugh I Lawsy, 

To«»cY I*' 

"His laigs wa'n't no good befo'," 
said Uncle Adam, "but dey cum ter 
dey senses when de boys drap 'im dar 
whar he thought 'uz er ha'nt. Genter- 
mens, I tells you er thing er dat kin' 
is er pow'ful limbersome sight I 
know. Time en time ergin is I run'd 
ercrost things en des walk out fu'm 
under my hat en leave it hangin' in de 
air. 'Bout de wus' I 'uz eber skeerd, 
'skuze'n de time me en Big Joe en 
Bayliss struck up wid dat ha'nt ober 
yander at de little rock house, 'uz one 
night I cum long fu'm town en pass 
de spot whar Mingo 'uz hung at. 
'Member dat place? Lawd, Lawd! I 
bet you ef I libes to be ole ez de hills 
dey ain't nothin' uver gwineter git er 
faster move on me dan whut I had 
right along dar." 

"Dennis say he 'uz dar en seed dat," 
she said. 

"Dennis tolc you er lie," he ob- 
served "I'll tell you 'bout whut all 
he seed dat night Dat nigger nuver 
got to de place, 'oman. All he know 
Txwit dat ha'nt 'uz what he figgered 
out in his h^id fu'm de caper I cut. 

Wait, wait, hoi' on, do, en lemme go 
back to de fus'. 

**01e man Dennis wa'n't 'long wid 
me dat time. I went ter town atter 
some 'visions one Sat'day night, en 
had er quarter sack er flour en er lot 
er bundle? en one thing er 'nuther to 
fotch back, en some de wimmen fo'ks 
started him out ter meet me halfway en 
he'p me tote *um. Dey know'd de 
road I 'Uz comin' back, kase I b'en 
dat way befo' — but nuver is sence. 
Dey sent him out ter meet me ha'f- 
way, en de place, you know, whar 
Mingo 'uz hung, is des 'bout dat fer 
betwixt home en town. Dis is 'bout 
de spot whar we oughter met at, but 
Dennis, he fool 'long de road en didn't 
git dar. I wush he had — I wush he 
had — consoun' his ole skeery times! 
I started back wid de flour on my 
shoulder en all de res' de things in er 
sack, 'cep' er jug er 'lasses, whut I 
belt by er string in my han', en I 'uz 
feelin' pow'ful like stoppin' en restin' 
when I reach dat holler whar de gal- 
lus stood, but instidder dat I sorter men' 
my gait ez de place make me feel skit- 
tish. I sorter men' my gait, I did, en 
step up pearter, en all uv a suddent I 
heerd sump'n' nother pop en rattle en 
I look up, en ef it's de las' thing I uver 
says, dar stood de gallus, en under it 
er man's body 'uz er hangfin', des 
'zackly like it des drap, swingin' roun' 
en roun'. Good-bye, flour! We got 
sum uv it de nex' mawnin' whar de 
sack bus' open on de groun', 's well 
ez my hat, whut 'uz layin' right smack 
in de spot whar I to' up de groun' 
makin' my fus' jump. I belt to de 
'lasses jug, kaze it 'uz tied wid a 
string to my wris', but I struck it 'gin 
er tree en re'ch home wid des de han- 
dle en de string. I didn't drap de 
y'uther sack, fer why, I dunno. Hush 
yo' fuss ! You uver seed er toad frog 
wid er black snake atter him? Well, 
suh, dat's des liken unto de motions 
I made. You uver see er mule run 
away ? Dat's 'bout how fas' I went-^ 
maybe a little fas'er — I spec' I did. 
Now dis is whar ole Dennis come in. 
He 'uz pokin' long down de hill to'dci 
de place, but er long ways too fer off 

Digitized by 




ter see anything. I heerd somebody 
wheel roun' ez I lit out up de hill, en 
do' I run same ez er bird fly, I nuver 
got no closter to him, en could des 
hear who-uver it wuz tar'in' de road 
up ahead er me. Gentermens, when I 
got in sight de house I seed somebody 
fall ober de fence en go in de do', en 
when I done de same, dar stood ole 
Dennis er blowin' en he say, 'Wha — 
whut you ninnin' f'lun?' " 

"De Law !" Aunt Martha exclaimed, 
"whyn't you ax 'im whut he runnin' 

"I did. I ax 'im dat, en he say he 
heerd me er-comin' en he know'd dey 
'uz sump'n' atter me. He wa'n't gwine- 
ter wait twell I come up, kaze he didn't 
know how close de thing 'uz pushin' 
me, en whether er no it uz 'tickler 'bout 
who it ketch. I tole him den whut I 
seed, en I say it wa'n't noways likely 
dat it 'ud leave de spot whar de man 
'uz hung, en he 'low he thought 'bout 
dat place 'uz de reason he nuver cum 
dat fer. Shucks! Dat ole nigger 
know'd he didn't have no bizness axin' 
any questions twell he got home in- 
side de house. I wush he'd been er- 
iong dar wid me. Ef he's dat skeerd, 
de sight er de thing 'ud er made him 
quit de y'urth for uver mo' I" 

"Unk' Adam, you right sho' you 
seed dat?" she asked. 

"Right sho' I seed it? Who, me? 
Why, dat gallus en ha'nt wuz ez plain 
ez de day de man 'uz htmg. You know 
I wouldn't er drap dat flour en broke 
de 'lasses jug, bid'out sump'n' pow'ful 
'uz de 'casion uv it." 

"Ole Dennis stick to de fac' dat he 
seed it, too," she persisted. 

"Ole Dennis stick to a lie. I done 
tole you whut all he seed," he an- 

"He 'low he seed it, en stop en 
study it, en went back dar de nex' 
night en look fer it again" she con- 

"De great Lawd f'um heavun I Dat's 
de mos' onpossible lie dat ole nigger 
uver tole yit. Why'n't you knock 
him down wid sump'n' nuther? Dad- 
jim his ole bow-legged soul, he know 
better'n to tell me dat ! Stop en study 
it — stop en study it. En went back 
dar de nej/ night. Consoun' his good- 
f ur-nothin' hide ! You couldn't er tied 
him wid er long chain en drug him dar 
atter dat, en he only hear me say whut 
I see." 

"Oh, you know ole Dennis," she re- 
plied soothingly. "He des wanter hear 
hisse'f talk, dat's all." 


See, love, I give to thee a rose, 

Place it 'gainst that cheek of thine — 
And know the reddest flower that blows 

By far is less incarnadine ; 
I tell thee of a heart that's still 

When thought of thee o'er memory flies — 
Whose hope of thee is as a rill 

Heard from afar 'mid wild-bird cries. 

See, love, I give to thee a hope, 

Place it 'gainst that breast of thine — 
Perchance mat it may inward grope 

And find thy love-stream's warmest wine : 
O lute string of the inner spheres 

That twangs the march of onward time. 
Come ope for me my loved one's ears 

And beat her ptil»e to your mad rhyme ! 

Satv Exion hoidifs. 

Digitized by 



By Anna Erwin Woods 

[Arranged from the papers and personal memoirs of Andrew E!rwln] 

CHAPTER XVn— Continued 

As we went along Donald tried to 
cheer and encourage him. "What's 
wrong wi' ye, man ?" he said. "You're 
a richt-mmded man. Ma word, ye've 
dune your best; dinna be cast doon, 
laddie; sooner or later, there's nae 
doot ye're bound to g^e us the road 

After some time spent in examining 
the neighborhood, the poor fellow dis- 
covered a spot which he perfectly rec- 

"Weel dune, weel dune, laddie," ex- 
claimed Donald, delighted. "You're 
a goot laddie, and this iss a prood 
mcwnent for ye; and an awfu' relief 
to us all to ken ye're na mair anxious." 

It certainly was a relief to us all that, 
in having his innocence established, we 
were assured of being on the right 
road. None rejoiced more heartily 
than Gordon and myself, and others, 
who, like us, had been willing only a 
short time before to condenm him to 
be hanged. But we were already be- 
ginning to learn that our commander 
was not a man to be influenced by rash 

It was on the evening of July 4th 
that we arrived within a few miles 
of the town, where we lay until dark, 
when our march was continued. We 
took possession of a house which was 
on the opposite or westerly side of the 
Kaskaskia river. Here we learned that 
the militia had, a few days before, been 
under arms; but no cause of alarm 
having been discovered, they had been 
disbanded, and everything was quiet. 
We were also told that there were a 
great many men in the town, but the 
Indians were mostly gone. 

^Beinin in Uie May issue. 

Having procured a sufficient number 
of boats for transportation, two divi- 
sions of our force crossed the river, 
with instructions to repair to different 
quarters of the town. Gordon went 
with one of these while I remained 
with Colonel Qark with the third di- 
vision, which was to take possession 
of the fort on this side of the river, 
in point blank shot of the town. 

It was agreed that if our detach- 
ment met no resistance, we would 
make a given signal, and then the other 
two parties would, with a shout, take 
possession of certain portions of the 
town. As soon as this should be ac- 
complished, they were to send persons 
who could speak French through the 
streets, to give the inhabitants notice 
that every man of the enemy who 
should appear in them would be shot 
down. All these arrangements had 
the most complete success. A hunt- 
ing soldier, whom he had taken pris- 
oner the evening before, showed us a 
postern-gate left open on the river side 
of the fortifications. We entered by 
this, and the fort was taken. The 
town was surrounded, every avenue 
guarded to prevent communication, 
and, in about two hours, the inhabi- 
tants were disarmed without one drop 
of bloodshed. Rochblave, the com- 
mandant, was taken in his bed-cham- 
ber; but, by imposing upon the deli- 
cacy of our men, his wife managed to 
screen or destroy his public papers so 
that none of them were secured, Bet- 
ter that, however, we thought, than 
that our good name should be tar- 
nished by insult to a woman. 

I did not meet Gordon until after 
midnight when, at the first moment we 
were alone, he exclaimed : 

Digitized by 




"By Jove I Ned, I have already had 
an adventure, and I have played 
knight-errant to the prettiest girl you 
ever saw in your life; and she has 
the sweetest way of talking French 
that was ever heard from human lips. 
It's worth while taking this long march 
just to hear her say, *Ah, Moitsieur, je 
vous remercie de tout mon coeur/ 
and looking up with her great, dark 
eyes in a way to reach one's soul, it is 
entirely different and causes an entire- 
ly different kind of feeling to having a 
girl saying in plain English, with a 
straightforward look, *I thank you, sir, 
with all my heart.' I've heard that 
many a time and it never made me feel 
as though I wanted to go down on my 

"Well done, Gordon!" I exclaimed 
in reply. "Not yet six hours in Kas- 
kaskia and you have already made love 
to a pretty girl. There's certainly truth 
in the old saying about faint heart 
never winning fair lady. By all that's 
daring, I do believe that faintness 
of heart will never make you lose a 
chance of winning. But, tell me, how 
did such a vagabond as you fall upon 
this good fortune, while better men 
are sitting here not even daring to 
dream of such eyes as you have been 
looking into?" 

"It would be going beyond the truth 
to say that I have already made love to 
her," said Gordon, in a tone of voice 
which showed the regret which this 
admission caused him. "All I can say 
is that I felt as though I wanted to." 
"Very well, let's have the story 
then," I ur^ed. "I'm sure it will only 
go to prove that you take advantage 
of your opportunities, where a more 
bashful man might not turn them to 
his purpose." 

"Well, you know," said Gordon, 
"we heard that these people had been 
taught by the English to believe that 
we are more barbarous than the sav- 
ages; and Clark wishes this delusion 
to be kept up so long as it answers 
his purposes. I am sure my appear- 
ance is calculated to aid him in his 
undertaking to inspire terror." As he 
spoke, he drew himself up to his full 

height, looking down at the costume 
in which he had made the march ; and 
as he stood before me, I thought that 
any woman would pronounce him in 
her heart, if not with her lips, a mag- 
nificently handsome fellow. 

Not giving expression, however, to 
my admiration, I said : "I think it is 
likely your looks are rather more cal- 
culated to terrify than to attract ; un- 
less you should meet some one who 
can discover your real worthiness, in 
spite of your present appearance." 

"Stranger things have happened," 
he said with a grimace. "However, 
I'll return to my story. Clark com- 
manded, you know, that the town 
should be patrolled with the utmost tu- 
mult, the troops whooping after the 
Indian fashion ; and the result of this 
was that the terrified inhabitants have, 
some hours since, sought the shelter 
of their homes, preserving the most 
profound silence. Now, it was this 
blessed order of Clark's which brought 
me good luck. 

"As a squad of our men were pass- 
ing, whooping in the wildest manner, 
a torch borne by one of them threw 
a bright light on two female figures, a 
short distance in front of us. I could 
see plainly that one was an elderly 
woman and the other a young girl, 
who seemed to be frightened and try- 
ing to hide themselves. As I advanced 
quickly toward them, the elderly one 
exclaimed; *Mon Dieu! Mam'selle 
Adrienne, c'est un de ces barbares! 
Le miserable ' 

" 'TaiS'toi,-Nannette/ said the young 
girl, 'peut-etre ' 

Hoping to relieve their terror, I 
walked forward rapidly and spoke 
in French. 

" 'Pardon me, Mademoiselle, but I 
perceive that you are alarmed by the 
presence of our soldiers. Will you 
permit me to escort you to a place of 

" I thank you. Monsieur,' she said, 
speaking also in French ; 'my home is 
very near.' 

"Seeing that our way would be quite 
dark, I called to Donald to come to us 
with a torch: and, thus escorted, the 

Digitized by 




young lady aiid her companion reached 
their home much sooner than suited 
me. I should have been greatly 
pleased to have allayed her fears as to 
what the inhabitants are to expect from 
us; but In deference to Qark's de- 
sire to overwhelm them with the ter- 
ror of our supposed ferocity, I would 
not do that. I contented myself with 
making every effort to impress her 
with a conviction that there is one 
American who is not a barbarian." 

"I do not doubt your success," I re- 
marked. "I can picture your gallant, 
gentle deference as you allayed the 
fears of the trembling fair one." 

"You may truly say fair one," said 
Gordon, with warmth; "for, as I was 
bidding her good night, and she was 
speaking these words of thanks which 
I repeated to you, just at that very 
moment Donald threw a bright stream 
of light from his torch upon her, and 
I saw in her eyes such a beautiful look 
as I have never seen in eyes before in 
all my life." 

He seemed to be in deep thought for 
a moment, and then added : "As sure 
as my name is Charlie Gordon, I will 
see that girl again before the next 
sun goes down." 

The morning of the 5th (the day 
following the entrance) found us in 
absolute possession of everything ; and 
our troops were withdrawn from the 
town to different positions around it. 
All intercourse was forbidden between 
the inhabitants and the soldiers under 
penalty of heavy punishment; and 
even those persons who were sent for 
by Clark were not allowed to have 
communication with the rest. 

"How are you going to do about 
finding your charming mademoiselle ?" 
I asked Gordon when he learned of 
these strict orders. 

"I am going to find her, and talk 
to her, too," was the quick reply, "if 
Clark has me shot for it." 

Information was soon given to our 
commander that M. Cerre, the princi- 
pal merchant of Kaskaskia, and who 
was then in St. Louis, was an in- 
veterate enemy of the Americans, had 

done all in his power to incite the In- 
dians to commit depredations upon 
our settlements. M. Cerre's family 
and an extensive assortment of his 
merchandise were in Kaskaskia, and, 
early on the morning of the 5th, 
Clark gave orders that seals should be 
at once placed upon his property and 
a guard around his he use. 

"I don't see why the commander 
should not have sent you, Ned, to 
execute these order about M. Cerre's 
affairs," said Gordon to me, evidently 
in a bad humor in consequence of hav- 
ing been instructed to attend to the 
business. "I have been dreaming 
about Mademoiselle Adrienne, and can 
think of nothing else but trying to find 

But in a few hours he come to me 
in quite another state of feeling. 

"What do you think, Ned?" he 
called out in a jubilant tone, and with 
the most exultant manner. "The 
most splendid good fortune in the 
world. By all the heathen gods, I am 
convinced it is in following straight 
the path of duty that we fmd happi- 
ness! What do you say to that fine 
sentiment, Ned?" 

"What marvelous thing has hap- 
pened to awaken you to such an ap- 
preciation of all this high-sounding 
principle?" I asked. 

"What has happened," he answered, 
"is that there exists, just now, the 
most delightful condition of affairs 
that you could ever dream of. Only 
listen to my story and tell me if it does 
not sotmd like a fairy tale. Made- 
moiselle Adrienne Soularde is a niece 
of M'me. Cerre, and at the present time 
a member of her family; and I have 
been instructed by the commander, 
as you well know, to strictly guard 
that family. I shall most zealously 
discharge my duty. I will live, if nec- 
essary, I will die at my post." 

"Certainly, Gordon, I fully under- 
stand now the happiness which is to 
be found in following the path of duty. 
But," I inquired, "have you seen her 
to-day? and do the glances from the 
dark eyes of la belle Adrienne touch 

Digitized by 



THE Taylor -TkOTwoob magazine 

your soul as powerfully by daylight 
as when Donald threw the brilliant 
light of his torch upon them ?" 

"Indeed, they do," he exclaimed tri- 
umphantly. "She is so dignified and 
charming that I admire her more than 
ever. Two of M'me. Cerre's children 
are quite ill, and their mother does not 
leave them a moment ; so, when I pre- 
sented myself at the house, it was 
Mademoiselle Adrienne who received 
me. You may imagpine my delight 
when I realized the situation of af- 
fairs. I made known to her the in- 
structions I had received, expressing 
the hope that the presence of our guard 
would cause the family no annoyance. 
Don't you envy me, Ned ?" 

"Of course I do," I replied with 
great gravity. "You will have the sat- 
isfaction of being envied by every man 
of the detachment, even by the com- 
mander himself, no doubt." 

Without listening to my words, Gor- 
don resumed the story of his adven- 
tures. "The elderly woman who was 
with her last night is the children's 
nurse, and she has been the nurse of 
Mademoiselle Adrienne herself, whose 
mother is M'me. Cerre's sister. Dur- 
ing my interview with Mademoiselle, 
Nannette came into the room, and 
when I left the house, having placed 
Donald on g^ard duty, I recommended 
him to Nannette's kind attention. She 
said to me: 'I will do dad, M'sieur; 
eef you wand I spick Eenglis wid eem.' 
Between Donald's Highland Scotch 
and her Illinois French English, they 
will probably have difficulty in com- 
ing to an understanding." 

After the removal of the troops the 
citizens had been allowed to walk 
around freely; but finding that they 
entered into conversation with each 
other, orders were issued to arrest and 
put in irons several of the principal 
militia officers. No reason was as- 
signed for this action, nor was any 
defense allowed to be made. 

The consternation was general, and 
the minds of all were filled with terri- 
ble and gloomy anticipations for the 
future. Finding themselves power- 
less in the hands of an enemy whom 

tlicy had been taught to look upon as 
monsters of wanton cruelty, only the 
worst consequences could be appre- 
hended, and they gave themselves up 
to despair. 

The first time Gordon went to M'me. 
Cerre's after this order had been is- 
sued, Donald met him and sadly shak- 
ing his head, said, "The puir lassie iss 
in sair tiibble, sair tribble, Maister 
Charlie." Then he whispered, 
"Weesht, weesht, the young leddie iss 
comin' oot ; it iss herself will be comin* 
oot to meet you, Maister Charlie." 

Having seen Gordon approach the 
house, Mademoiselle Adrienne had not 
waited for him to enter, but had come 
forward in haste to meet him. The 
pained expression upon her face and 
the agitation of her manner showed 
plainly the distress and excitement 
from which she was suffering. 

"Monsieur," she said, addressing 
him, as she always did, in French, "my 
aunt sends me to you with a message. 
You kindness to us causes her to feel 
that she will not in vain appeal to you 
for any help which you can give us. 
My Cousin Pierre has been arrested 
and put in irons." At these words, no 
longer able to control herself, she 
burst into tears and sobbing as though 
her heart was breaking, cried : 

"Ah, Monsieur, what have we done 
to merit this cruel treatment? We were 
in the power of the English and we 
obeyed them. They told us such mon- 
strous things of the barbarity of the 
Virginians that we were terrified when 
you came. But you. Monsieur, have 
been gentle and kind to us, and we are 
grateful to you. In our hearts we are 
ever giving you thanks. Now, this 
dreadful news has reached us that our 
friends are imprisoned and in irons, 
and we are in despair. We know not 
what misfortune may come to us. We 
are at the mercy of your commander." 

You may well understand how ten- 
derly Gordon's heart was touched by 
the sight of this lovely girl in such 
distress and that he offered her all the 
consolation in his power. Promising 
to leave no effort untried to effect the 
release of her cousin, he came asxjuick- 

Digitized by 




ly as possible to Clark's headquarters. 
Not t^ing able to see Colonel Qark, 
he found me and, with the greatest ex- 
citement, related to me what had oc- 
curred at M'me. Cerre's. 

After expressing a great deal of in- 
terest and sympathy, I said: "I do 
not believe, Gordon, that you can ac- 
complish anything in this matter. 
Clark is inflexible in his determinati6n 
to inspire these people with terror. 
No one knows so well as he does what 
a dangerous position we are in. He 
has brought us up here, a handful of 
men — ^less than two hundred of us — 
and now, here we are hundreds of 
miles from our friends, separated from 
them by a wilderness full of blood- 
thirsty savages, and all around us 
thousands and thousands of hostile In- 
dians under British influence. I am 
not trying to make the picture any 
darker than the truth, and I am not 
dreading the result. I have absolute 
confidence in Qark; but we must all 
give him unquestioning obedience." 

"But," argued Gordon, "these 
French people do not seem inclined to 
do us harm, and now they are being 
treated in the most severe manner." 

"I know," I replied, "that these 
measures seem very harsh ; and I be- 
lieve that no one regrets more than 
the commander does that he is com- 
pelled to adopt them. He is certainly 
a kind and affectionate man in his na- 
ture; and I am convinced that to be 
compelled to use such harshness to- 
ward an unoffending people must be 
a terrible trial to him. He is influ- 
enced by the feeling that our safety de- 
pends upon it. He must establish a 
most absolute authority over the 
French, for you know the Indians love 
the French and would be greatly in- 
fluenced by them. However it may 
be, Gordon, you must see as I do, that 
our cmly hope is in Qark. I feel as- 
sured that your ccwifidence in him is 
is as great as mine." 

In fact, these severe measures adopt- 
ed by Clark did succeed in establish- 
ing his authority more fully than if he 
had been a less dreaded commander 
of a very large force; and he many 

times, in after years, has told me that 
I was correct in my judgment that to 
be forced to use such harshness to- 
wards an unoffending people was, in- 
deed, a severe trial to him. 

It was soon after this conversation 
between Gordon and myself that per- 
mission was granted to the priest of 
the village, accompanied by five or 
six elderly gentlemen, to wait upon 
the American commander. 

I was in the room when they were 
admitted into Colonel Qark's pres- 
ence, where he was sitting surrounded 
by his ofiicers. As his plan was to 
make himself and his followers ap- 
pear as savage and as frightful as pos- 
sible, the abrupt and harsh manner 
adopted and their clothes torn and 
soiled by the march accomplished this 

The Frenchmen did not speak un- 
til their business was demanded. As 
there was nothing to indicate any dif- 
ference in rank among the men who 
received them, their first question was, 
"Which gentleman is your command- 
er?" Upon being told, the priest ad- 
dressed Clark in these words: 

"The people of our village, expect- 
ing to be separated never to meet 
again, ask permission to assemble in 
the church to take leave of each 

Suspecting that they thought their 
Roman Catholic religion would be ob- 
noxious to us, Clark replied: "We 
have nothing to say against your 
church ; that is a matter which Ameri- 
cans leave for every man to settle 
with his God. The people may as- 
semble at the church if they wish ; but 
if they do, they must not venture out 
in the town." Upon the gentlemen 
of Kaskaskia attempting some fur- 
ther conversation, they were repelled 
by telling them there was no leisure 
for further intercourse. 

The whole town assembled at the 
church where they remained a con- 
siderable time. The strictest orders 
were given and enforced that during 
their absence, no soldier should enter 
the deserted dwellings. The priest, 
accompanied by the same gentlemen, 

Digitized by 




again waited upon Colonel Qark to 
express, in the name of the village, 
their thanks for the indulgence they 
had received. 

The deputation then begged leave 
to address their conqueror on a sub- 
ject which was dearer, to them than 
any other. The priest, being again 
the spokesman, said: 

**We are sensible that our present 
situation is the fate of war, and we 
can submit to the loss of our prpp- 
erty; but we solicit that we may not 
be separated from our wives and chil- 
dren, and that some clothes and pro- 
visions may be allowed for their sup- 

Being satisfied that their terrors had 
been wound up to the desired height, 
and that lenity might now be shown 
with good results, Clark determined 
to lay aside the cruel harshness which 
only his dangerous circumstances had 
forced him to adopt. 

Abruptly addressing the deputation, 
he said : "Do you mistake us for sav- 
ages? I am almost certain you do 
from your language. Do you think 
that Americans intend to strip women 
and children, or take the bread out of 
their mouths? My countrymen dis- 
dain to make war upon helpless inno- 
cence. It was to prevent the horrors 
of Indian butchery of our own wives 
and children that we have taken arms 
and penetrated into this remote 
stronghold of British and Indian bar- 
barity, and not for the despicable pros- 
pect of plunder. 

"The king of France has now united 
his powerful arms with those of 
America; and this war will not, in 
all probability, continue long. The in- 
habitants of Kaskaskia are at liberty 
to take which side they please with- 
out the least danger to either their 
property or families. Their religion 
will not be any source of disagree- 
ment; for all religions are regarded 
with respect in the eyes of the Ameri- 
cans. Any insult which should be of- 
fered to your religion will be immedi- 
ately punished. 

"To prove my sincerity, you will 
please inform your fellow-citizens that 

they are at liberty to conduct them- 
selves as usual, without the least ap- 
prehension ; and your friends who are 
in confinement shall be immediately 
released. I am now convinced from 
what I have learned since my arrival 
among you that you have been mis- 
informed and prejudiced against us 
by British officers." 

You may well conceive the joy of 
. the village seniors upon hearing these 
words spoken by the American com- 
mander. They attempted some apolo- 
gy for the implied imputation of our 
being barbarians, under the plea of 
the property of the captured town be- 
longing to the conquerors. Clark dis- 
missed them in order that they might 
immediately relieve the anxiety of 
their friends; but before permitting 
them to go, he said: 

"I shall shortly publish a proclama- 
tion and shall require a strict com- 
pliance with its terms." 

Upon learning the generous and 
magnanimous intentions of their con- 
querors, the contrast of feeling among 
the people verified the sagacious an- 
ticipations of Colonel Clark. In a few 
moments the village was converted 
into a scene of the most extravagant 
joy. Perfect freedom being given 
to the inhabitants to go and come as 
they pleased, the church was crowded 
with people offering up thanks to God 
for their deliverance from the hor- 
rors they had so fearfully expected. 

During all those days of anxiety 
and trouble, Gordon had been faith- 
ful and constant in his devotion to 
the family of M'me. Cerri. The chil- 
dren had recovered from their ex- 
treme illness, and their mother could 
now absent herself from them. Gor- 
don had seen her frequently, and she 
had most gratefully acknowledged the 
courteous kindness which he had 
shown towards her family. She sym- 
pathized in the general feeling of re- 
lief and joy which now prevailed 
throughout the village; but her un- 
easiness was very great about her hus- 
band, who was still absent in St. 
Louis. Now that Clark felt that his 
authority was fully established in Kas- 

Digitized by 




kaskia, his next anxiety was about 
Cahokia,'^ a place of some importance 
sixty miles higher up the Mississippi 
river, and immediately opposite the 
town of St. Louis. We had heard that 
a considerable body of Indians lay in 
the neighborhood of the British fort 
of Cahokia, and Clark determined to 
take possession of it, if possible, in the 
same way that Kaskaskia had been 

Gordon, coming to me hurriedly one 
day and appearing to be quite excited, 
said: "Ned, I don't like to seem like 
a coward and object to going on a 
march, but I was terribly disappointed 
just now when Bowman told me that I 
was to go with him to Cahokia." 

"Is Major Bowman going?" I 
asked. "I had not heard who was to 
be sent" 

"Yes," replied Gordon; "Bowman 
is going with a detachment, and he 
told me that some of the Kaskaskia 
gentlemen had offered to go with him. 
I intend to see Mademoiselle's cousin, 
Pierre Cerre, and ask him to go. He 
and I are very good friends. He 
knows I tried to help him when he 
was imprisoned." 

"I think you are pretty good friends 
with all that family," I called to him 
as he left the room. 

Later in the day Gordon told me 
that Pierre Cerre had decided to go 
with them. Cerre was a captain of 
militia, and Clark had arranged for 
their own officers to command the 
French party, which mark of confi- 
dence greatly pleased them. Of 
course, it was hoped that the French 
company would have influence with 
their friends and relatives in Cahokia 
to prevail upon them to entertain the 
same feeling towards us which they 
did; and, in fact, this was of great 
assistance in making the success of Ae 
expedition perfect Major Bowman 
took possession of the British fort 
amid the huzzas of the people for the 
Americans ; and the Indians who were 
encamped there dispersed. 


8t. Lovls. 

The Cerri Family 

I had been instructed to take Gor- 
don's place at M'me. Cerre's during his 
absence; and he gave me a thousand 
directions as to the care I should take 
of the family, every member of which 
I found, entertained for him a most 
grateful feeling. He had been so 
good to the sick children that they, as 
well as their mother, seemed, indeed, 
to love him, as did also their faithful 
nurse, Nannette. 

I could not speak French at all flu- 
ently, and the ladies spoke but little 
English; but I was not discouraged 
in regard to our conversing together 
intelligibly after having observed a 
conversation carried on between Don- 
ald and Nannette, during which, in 
spite of all difficulties, they arrived at 
some kind of mutual understanding. 
Nannette showed by many kind atten- 
tions the gratitude felt by the family 
to Donald as well as to Gordon ; and 
Donald said to me, "Nannette iss fery 

One day I heard her say to him: 
**Mon Dieu! il fait chaud aujourdhui 
— dis day hot — . Eef you pliz, you 
drink doze milk." 

As Donald took the milk, he said: 
"Ye hev a gude hert, Nannette, a rael 
gude hert. Ye gie me a glass o' 
milk, but when ye talk I dinna under- 
stand ye noo." 

Turning to me, he remarked : "Sic 
a landgidge ye've niver hceard a' the 
days o' yir life." But with his honest 
nature, fearing he had not been just, 
he continued : "I know my landgidge 
iss not fery goot for Nannette to un- 
derstand. What iss wrong with my 
speakin' iss that my mither wass Scot- 
tish; but my faither wass Heiland- 
man, and when I wass a wee laddie I 
wud be always sayin' some words like 
my faither." 

"Thad ces veree funnee," said Nan- 
nette, trying earnestly to understand 
Donald's "landgidge," which gave 
me, at times some difficulty to inter- 
pret. After looking puzzled for a mo- 

Digitized by 




ment, she added in a tone of sympa- 
thy, "No personne no spick lak thad ; 
but you say id thad way eef you wand 

Donald was very fond of the chil- 
dren and would do all in his power 
to amuse them; but he had been too 
strictly brought up in the theology of 
the Free Kirk of Scotland not to fear 
the insidious approaches of the evil 
one, and to pass judgment upon the 
kindly promptings of his own heart. 

One day, when he had been indulg- 
ing himself by making the children 
happy, he said to me : "I wass juist 
sayin' to Nannette that it iss temptin* 
o' Providence to mak' idols o' the 
bonnie bairns ; but a'm dootin' it's a' 
sair lesson to learn na to do it." And 
he looked tenderly at the children as 
he spoke. 

"Thad ees troo," said Nannette, 
judging, I presume, rather more by the 
expre3sion of his countenance than by 
his words ; and taking one of the chil- 
dren in her arms, she spoke caressing- 
ly. "Ah I Mignonne, lilF darlin' chile. 
Pauvre, jolie p'tite, no papa. Papa no 
cum see hees lill' chile." 

"Puir lassie," said kind-hearted 
Donald to the child ; "I will be think- 
in' it 'ill nae be lang till your faither 
'ill came awa' hame to see the bonnie 

"Thad goot God He know all dem 
tings," said Nannette. With her ten- 
derness for the child there seemed to 
be aroused in her a strong feeling of 
resentment against the accusers of M. 
Cerre and giving expression to this, 
she exclaimed : 

"Ah! thad goot God he mague eet 
more wurz fur doze bad man, 'oo- 
ever ee iz' w'at say thad thing 'boud 
M'sieur Cerri. Comment! M'sieur 
Cerre, he eez de bez man w'at God haf 
mague; doze udder man dey tell dem 
lies Txmd eem. Eef thad thing wa'd 
dey say 'boud eem ees troo, I tell you 
den wa'd ees troo, pas la lune— ^lee 
moon not ees een de sky." Loyal and 
true and with a heart full of sympa- 
thy, good Nannette continued: "Et 
pauvre Madame, she feel so bad — 
doze bad man wa'd mague sum troubl' 

to 'er 'uzban; an' n6boddie able do 
nuttin fo"er, exzeb de goot God 

I was well aware of the great un- 
happiness of M'me. Cerre; and she 
had several times spoken to me of the 
uneasiness felt by M. Cerr^ in conse- 
quence of his separation from his fami- 
ly. He was fearful of entering into 
the power of the Americans without a 
safe-conduct, and had taken every 
measure to procure that. He had se- 
cured recommendations from the 
Spanish governor at St. Louis, and 
also from the commandant at St. Gene- 
vieve, supported by the influence of 
the greater part of the citizens. These 
papers, at the request of M'me. Cerre, 
I had myself handed to Colonel Qark. 
All this, however, was in vain. Clark 
refused to listen to any such applica- 
tion. He said : 

"M. Cerre is a sensible man ; if he 
is innocent of the charge of inciting 
the Indians against the Americans, he 
need not be afraid of delivering him- 
self up. This backwardness upon his 
part only increases the suspicion 
against him." 

I repeated these words to M'me. 
Cerre, and she communicated them to 
her husband. Immediately upon their 
being repeated to him, M. Cerre came 
to Kaskaskia and, before even visiting 
his family, waited upon the American 

Colonel Qark received him with 
these words : "The crime with which 
you stand charged is that of encourag- 
ing the Indians in their murders and 
devastations upon our frontiers. I re- 
gard it as a sacred duty, laid upon all 
civilized people, to punish sudh vio- 
lators of honorable warfare whenever 
they can get them within their power." 

Upon hearing this accusation, ac- 
companied by this expression of stem 
determination upon the part of the 
man in whose power he was, M. Cerri 
frankly replied: 

"I am a mere merchant, and I have 
never concerned myself in affairs of 
state beyond what die interests of my 
business have required. My rensole 
position has prevented my understand- 

Digitized by 




ing the merits of the war now raging 
between Great Britain and the United 
States, her former colonies. I desire 
to support the strictest inquiry into the 
heinous charge made against me. I 
defy any man to prove that I have en- 
couraged Indian barbarities, while 
many can be produced who have 
heard me deplore such cruelties. Per- 
mit me, however, to inform you that 
there are numbers of men indebted to 
me who might by my ruin seek to 
discharge their pecuniary obligations." 

When M. Cerre had ceased speak- 
ing, Colcmel Clark, without making 
any reply to what he had heard, re- 
quested him to retire to another room. 
Then he sent for the accusers to be 
brought before him, and they entered, 
accompanied by a great many people 
of the town. M. Cerre was then sum- 
moned to confront them. Upon his 
entrance. Colonel Clark said : 

"I have no disposition to condemn 
any man unheard. M. Cerr^ is now 
present; and I am ready to do jus- 
tice to the civilized world by punish- 
ing him if guilty of inciting the In- 
dians to conunit their savage enormi- 
ties upon women and children." 

Every one present could plainly see 
the confusion which appeared among 
the accusers. They began to whisper 
to one another and retire, until, at last, 
only one of them was left. This per- 
son was asked for his proof, .and he 
could produce none. 

Colonel Clark then turned to M. 
CerrL "Sir," he said, "I acquit you 
of the charge brought against you." 
It was evident to us all that these 
words gave as much pleasure to his 
fellow-dtizens as relief to the accused 

Colonel Clark then congratulated 
him quite cordially and told him he 
would be glad to have him become an 
American citizen ; "but," he added, "if 
you do not sincerely desire to take this 
step, you are at perfect liberty to dis- 
pose of your property and remove else- 

The fair and generous treatment 
which he had received so favorably 
impressed M. Ctrrk that soon after he 

took the oath of allegiance and became 
a most valued friend to the Ameri- 
can cause. Throughout his life and 
that of his admirable wife my friend- 
ship for them both continued; and a 
lady whom I have the honor to num- 
ber among my friends, M'me. Auguste 
Chouteau, of St. Louis, is their daugh- 

As soon as I had felt assured of the 
result of the trial, not waiting for Colo- 
nel Clark to dismiss M. Cerri, I has- 
tened to convey the happy tidings to 
his wife. As I passed Donald, 
who, being in full sympathy with the 
family, had been anxiously watching 
for my coming, he said: "I wass 
thinking every meenut wass an hour ; 
but I ken weel it iss a' richt. Tae see 
ye cum intil the yaird, the fery look 
o' ye wass sayin' it iss a gled day." 

Nannette's joy was even more loud- 
ly expressed. "Ah, quel bonheur! 
Mon Dieu, quel bonheur! 'ow 'appy, 
'ow 'appy! M'sieur, you couldn' bi- 
liev' me eef I tell you 'ow 'appy 
doze news mague ebryding." Clasp- 
ing one of the children in her arms, the 
loyal soul shed tears of delight. 

Good, faithful Donald and Nan- 
nette had, doubtless, offered many sin- 
cere prayers to God, to the Virgin, and 
to all the saints to look in pity on 
this family during their days of trou- 
ble, and now they were rewarded by 
sharing their joy. 

It was the next day after M. Cerre's 
return that Gordon arrived from Ca- 
hokia, bearing the dispatches from 
Major Bowman. He had a tfiousand 
questions to ask Mademoiselle Adri- 
enne, and I said to him, jestingly : 

"I have been teaching her E^lish, 
and this is just the hour that I am to 
give her a lesson. You can go with 
me and listen to us." 

"By Jove!" he exclaimed, "I call 
that cool impudence. I left her in 
your charge while I was gone, and 
now that I am back again, I propose 
to see her as quickly as I can get there, 
with or without you, but as Made- 
moiselle Adrienne and I always talk 
French together, it may be dull to you 
listening to us." 

Digitized by 




I had spoken in jest, but the tone 
of Gordon's voice and the excitement 
of his manner convinced me of what I 
had thought before. There are some 
men who seem to entirely lose their 
reason in any matter concerning the 
woman they love, and I believed Gor- 
don to be one of these. Noble-hearted 
and loyal as he was, still, in a moment 
of eager passion, he would have shed a 
brother's blood, although he was so 
true and generous that, had he been 
in the wrong, he would gladly have 
offered his life to undo the deed. 

That his heart had been given to 
Adrienne, fully, honorably, irrevoca- 
bly, I did not doubt. He was young, 
with the daring courage and trusting 
force of youth. In his veins there ran 
French and Scottish blood. With the 
vivacity of the children of sunny 
France, he had quickly yielded, with 
passionate eagerness, to the charm of 
her beauty and grzct ; but with the te- 
nacious strength of the Highlander, he 
afterwards clung to this overpowering 
emotion. With such men love may 
come suddenly ; but, once it has gained 
the mastery, it remains enthroned, for 
good or evil as fate ordains. Adrienne 
was lovely, and I counted her worthy 
of his devotion. We had both seen 
her under such circumstances as 
showed her gentleness and also her 

During a visit to M. Cerre's house 
very soon after his return, I had the 
pleasure of making the acquaintance 
of Pcrc Gibault, the Roman Catholic 
priest whom I had seen on two occa- 
sions when he had his interviews with 
Colonel Qark. Both M'me. Cerre and 
Mademoiselle Adrienne had often 
talked to me of him, and I knew he 
was greatly beloved by all the French 
in that whole region. 

The day I met him at M. Cerre's, 
P^re Gibault spoke with earnestness 
of what had been said to him by our 
commander in regard to religious tol- 
eration. I recognized the extreme 
gratification he felt in the assurance 
which Colonel Qark had given that 
the august Church, so belo\ed by hini- 

* The present town of Vlncennes. Indiana. 

self and his people, should be treated 
with reverence. 

I have often thought that in noth- 
ing did George Rogers Clark give 
stronger evidence of his remarkable 
sagacity than in speaking such words 
to a man so revered by the people who 
surrounded us. They were wisely 
spoken and a rich harvest resulted, 
bearing good fruit. I spoke to Colonel 
Clark of having met Pere Gibault, and 
of all I had heard of his widespread 
influence, not only among the French, 
but even among the Indians. Be- 
sides being the priest at Kaskaskia, he 
was also the priest at St. Vincent's, a 
British post of great importance, where 
the inhabitants of the town (as every- 
where else in the Illinois country) 
were French Catholics. 

Qark well knew the importance of 
this place, and I have heard him many 
times, in after years, say: "St. Vin- 
cent's* was never out of my mind." 
After listening to what I had to tell 
him, he instructed me to call upon 
Pere Gibault and say to him that he 
requested an interview with him. 

Through Clark's wonderful insight 
into human nature, this conference led 
to a marvelous success. He com- 
menced by opening up to Pere Gibault 
his plan of a military expedition from 
the Falls of the Ohio against St. Vin- 
cent's, Now, I will tell you, at once, 
and you can bear it in mind, that there 
was about as much hope of a rein- 
forcement coming to us from General 
Washington's army as there was of an 
expedition from the Falls of the Ohio. 

Every one of us knew well that if 
St. Vincent's was ever taken it must 
be done by us, as the other British 
forts had been captured under the 
guidance of the adroit and skillful 
leadership of our commander. Clark's 
action on this occasion showed that 
not more by the decisive measures 
which mark military genius than by 
the unerring sagacity which stamps a 
leader of men, did he achieve success 
in executing the daring undertaking 
which he had planned. 

After listening most attentively to 

Digitized by 




all that was said by the American 
commander in regard to the proposed 
campaign against St. Vincent's, Pere 
Gibaulty the excellent patriot-priest, 
moved by a strong desire to save his 
parishioners from the chance of mili- 
tary spoil and violence, said : 

"Governor Abbot (the British gov- 
ernor) is now absent from the post on 
business in Detroit. I scarcely con- 
sider a military expedition from the 
Falls to be necessary. If it meets with 
your approbation, I will take the busi- 
ness on myself of bringing St. Vin- 
cent's over to the American interest, 
without your being at the trouble of 
marching against that place." To this 
offer of aid in realizing the fondest 
wish of his heart, Clark readily assent- 

ed; and, accompanied by one or two 
companions, Pere Gibault set off for 
St. Vincent's. 

It required only a few days of ex- 
planation between the priest and his 
flock for the inhabitants of St. Vin- 
cent's to throw off the British yoke 
and take the oath of allegiance to the 
commonwealth of Virginia. The 
American flag was displayed over the 
fort, to the astonishment of the In- 
dians, who were told by their French 
friends : 

"Your old father, the king of 
France, has come to life again, and he 
is angry with you for fighting for the 
English ; if you do not wish the land 
to be bloody with war, you must make 
peace with the Americans." 

[To be continued] 


By Leigh Gordon Giltncr 

^IVE of the party 
which sat down after 
the theater to a game 
of cards at the club 
were men prominent 
in the business and 
social life of the me- 
tropolis. Fielding, 
the sixth, might have 
been termed a proba- 
tioner. He had 
"come out of the West" less than a 
year previous, bringing letters to the 
Dra3rtons, whose introduction was suf- 
ficient to insure his calling, if not his 
election, to the inner circle of the niost 
exclusive set. It wanted only offi- 
cial confirmation of his rumored en- 
gagement to Constance Drayton to 
render his position absolutely assured. 
The men grouped around the taWe 
were much of a type — the type one 
meets with in the more exclusive met- 
ropolitan clubs — well bred, well 
groomed, and with a certain indefina- 
ble air of distinction about them. If 
any one of them had been asked, he 

would probably have answered that he 
played for amusement solely, without 
any reference to the financial aspect of 
the game. The stakes were not high, 
though now and then enough money 
was wagered on a hand to make things 

As the game prc^essed, the luck 
began to trend pretty steadily in one 
direction, but as Fielding was uni- 
formly successful in his play, no one 
gave the matter thought until Drexel 
(rather an adept at cards) chanced to 
see or fancy he saw an action which 
served to confirm certain suspicions 
which had lately intruded themselves 
upon him. The play went on quietly 
luitil the deal again fell to Fielding, 
when Drexel quietly rose and turning 
to Bourke, who sat opposite, said 
carelessly : 

"Change places with me, Reggie, 
will you ? I'd like to break my luck — 
it's beastly poor to-night!" — ^and 
Bourke promptly complied. The deal 
went round a second and a third time 
and still Fielding's luck stayed with 

Digitized by V^OOQlC 



him. The game progressed without 
incident, and Loring, who cared little 
for cards, was beginning to be a trifle 
bored, when suddenly, as Fielding was 
helping his hand in a jackpot, Ward 
Drexel bent forward with a swift 
movement and before the hand could 
be withdrawn had pinned the five cards 
to the table. Fielding went ghastly 
white ; three of the other men gasped 
and waited in mute astonishment for 
Drexel's explanation ; the fourth, who 
sat at the dealer's right and, like Drex- 
el, had carefully watched his play, was 
instantly alive to the situation and in- 
wardly felicitating himself that the dis- 
closure had not devolved upon him. 

"When the cards were cut," began 
Drexel, still covering the hand and 
looking squarely into Fielding's eyes, 
"I caught a glimpse of the bottom 
card. It was the queen of hearts. In 
helping your hand just now, I saw 
you slip a card from the bottom. It 
is the uppermost one of these cards 
which I prevented your taking up. If 
it does not prove to be the queen and 
if It does not improve your hand, I 
will apologize to you and the other 
gentlemen present and resign my mem- 
bership. If it is the queen, I shall in- 
sist that you leave the club." 

"I had the queen of hearts in my 
hand on the start," faltered Fielding, 
white to the lips. "I held it at the 
first and I did not draw from the bot- 
tom of the deck." 

Drexel set his teeth. 

"The card you drew is the top card 
of the five on the table," he said quiet- 
ly, "If it is the queen of hearts, you 
did not have it in your hand. I saw it 
distinctly at the bottom of the pack. 
Vandiver, will you oblige me by fac- 
ing that card ?" 

There was a breathless hush, in the 
midst of which Vandiver bent forward 
and turned the card in question face 
upward on the table. It was the queen 
of hearts! The remaining four cards 
were also hearts, and the queen com- 
pleted a flush. 

The tense silence lasted a long mo- 
ment Then Vandiver rose and quiet- 
ly closed and locked the card-room 

door. Fielding sat quite still, breath- 
ing heavily. Four men, stem, shocked, 
accusing, confronted him. Loring, the 
fifth, did not look toward him. 

Explanation ensued. Fielding, at 
first, vehemently denied the ugly 
charge against him, but under Drexel's 
unflinching gaze and unwavering tes- ^ 
timcmy, he presently broke down. 

"Well," he said at last, "since you've 
got me in a comer, I might as well 
own up. I did fake the queen as Drex- 
el charges and I haven't been plajring 
on the square for a month past. I lost 
heavily at Sheepshead and Saratoga 
last summer and in the effort to recoup 
myself for these losses I've been buck- 
ing the stock market ever since — ^with 
the result that I'm quite at the end of 
my resources. This thing b^^ one 
night four weeks ago when I was 
playing with Carter, Oelrichs and Lo- 
ring here. I'd learned out West to 
stock the cards a bit, and as I sat there 
with just ten dollars between me and 
destruction, the temptation to put the 
knowledge into practice assailed me. 
I left the table that night the win- 
ner by fifty dollars. After that it 
was easy — descensus Avemi, as we 
used to say at college." He stopped a 
moment with a pitiful attempt at a 
smile, then went on quickly, "I've 
cheated various members of diis club 
out of sums ranging anjrwhere fnMn 
five to fifty dollars — ^and I fancy Lo- 
ring, with whc»n I've played oftenest, 
is out a pretty steep sum. Now you've 
got the story. That's all there is to 
it The question is. What are you go- 
ing to do about it?" He spoke in a 
dull, lifeless tone, utterly at variance 
with the bravado of his words. It was 
almost as if the shameful recital were 
impersonal and a matter of indiflference 
to the narrator. 

For answer, Drexel rang for paper, 
pens and ink. A resignation was 
speedily drafted, and Fielding signed 
without protest on request It then 
appeared that he owed the club a mat- 
ter of a hundred or so, which he ad- 
mitted his utter inability to liquidate. 

"Perhaps," quietly interposed Lo- 
ring, who had hitherto taken no part 

Digitized by 



20 1 

in the proceedings, "you gentlemen 
will permit me to assume this obliga- 

The other men started. They all 
knew Victor Loring for a man almost 
Quixotic in his courtesy to his fellows, 
but that he should offer to assume the 
liabilities of his successful rival struck 
them as about the limit. Even Field- 
ing, who sat with his head fallen for- 
ward on his breast, roused himself to 
look at the speaker. Something in 
the glance that met his own made him 
feel less a Pariah. 

"I rather fancy," Drexel submitted, 
"that it's up to me." 

"Suppose we share the amount 
equally?" Oelrichs suggested — ^and so 
it was finally agreed. 

Ten minutes later Dana Fielding 
descended, for the last time, the club- 
house steps, while the men instrumen- 
tal in his expulsion sat and smoked in 
thoughtful silence. After an instant's 
incertitude, one of them, who had 
chanced to note the expression of 
Fielding^s face, rose hastily and with a 
muttered excuse to his fellows, hur- 
ried down the hallway Fielding was 
just quitting and followed him out 
into the night. 

♦ ♦ ♦ 

"I sent for you, Mr. Loring," Miss 
Dnyton was saying, "because I felt 
that I might so far trespass upon your 
kindness as to ask you to give me the 
details of this unfortunate affair. Of 
course, there are a dozen varying 
stories afloat, but I want the exact 

Loring did not speak, and after an 
instant's pause she proceeded : 

"Perhaps I should tell you that my 
engagement to Mr. Fielding was brok- 
en a week ago." (Loring quickly lift- 
ed his head.) "But when I heard 
yesterday this cruel caltunny against 
him, I wrote at once to assure him 
of my belief in his innocence, as an ear- 
nest of which I desired that our en- 
gagement should be renewed. It 
seemed a cowardly thing to desert him 
when he most needed me; and I felt 
that I could give him and the world 
no more convincing proof of my con- 
fidence in hi3 int^^ty than by allow- 

ing our engagement to be announced 
at once." 

The girl's fine face glowed with a 
very passion of sacrifice — the ancient 
martyr-spirit which inheres inevitably 
in all womankind. Loring groaned in 

"I wrote to Dana the moment I 
heard that brutal slander," the girl 
pursued. "I asked no questions, I 
made no investigation — ^that would 
have seemed to imply a doubt of him. 
But now that I have oroved my trust, 
I wish to know the details of the story 
— ^what they are saying at the clubs 
and on the street — that I may be able 
to combat it. The accepted version 
seems to be that Ward Drexel detect- 
ed Mr. Fielding in the act of cheat- 
ing at cards; that he admitted his 
guilt and was summarily expelled 
from the club; that one of the men 
present, whose name I did not learn, 
followed him to his rooms and saved 
him from suicide by a generous offer 
of aid and sympathy. Will you tell 
me, please, just how much — or how 
little — foundation there is for all this?'* 

Loring crossed to the window and 
stood there for a long moment, the 
better and the baser instincts battling 
fiercely within him. Which way did 
honor He? Should he— could he — ^tell 
this girl that he had seen the man she 
trusted cheat at cards? Could he 
allow her to sacrifice herself to a mis- 
taken sense of loyalty to a man who 
was confessedly a liar and a cad ? It 
was an awkward question and the so- 
lution seemed far to seek. He pres- 
ently turned and came back to her; 

"Miss Drayton," he said quietly, "I 
cannot answer your questions, and I 
beg that you will excuse me from 
further discussion of the subject. I 
should be wholly unable to speak of 
it without prejudice because — ^because 
I love you, Constance I" 

The girl turned a startled face upon 

"You love me — ^you?" she faltered. 
"Do you mean to say that you — that 
you " 

"That IVe loved you all this while, 
Constance," he finished for hen "I 
love you so much that if I attempted 

Digitized by 




to discuss your attitude toward this 
(AhtT man, I must inevitably prove 
myself a coward or a cad. You must 
see my position, Constance, and you 
will understand that there is nothing 
I can say in the matter. If I can be 
of service in any other way, I shall 
be very glad. Otherwise, I shall say 
good afternoon." 

His hand was upon the knob when 
he heard his name spoken. 

** Victor I " Constance whispered 
trem-ilously, "Victor !" Loring turned 
abruptly. "If you — if you — cared for 
me," she stammered desperately, '"why 
did you not tell me? Why did you 
allow me to go blindly on and half in 
pity, half in pique, engage myself to 
another man, when — when " 

"Because I'm seventeen different 
kinds of an idiot, I suppose," Loring 
answered, a sudden rapture beginning 
to riot within him. "I never for a 
moment dreamed that you " 

"But I did," Constance asserted, 
with a boldness that surprised herself. 
"And — I do!" The next moment she 
was hiding her crimson face against 
Loring's breast and Loring's fine theo- 
ries of honor and fair play were scat- 
tered to the winds. 

But the rapture was brief. Con- 
stance presently lifted her face with 
a sigh that was almost a sob. 

"Oh!" she breathed, "if only I 
hadn't written that silly letter, with its 
heroics and protestations I I didn't 
mean the half of it, but I let my 
sympathies carry me away. And now 
— O Victor! — what on earth am I to 

A prompt solution was offered by 
the butler of the house of Drayton who 
at that moment entered discreetly to 
announce Mr. Fielding. Fielding fol- 
lowed closely upon the announcement 
of his name. He looked wan and 
worn, but his haggard eyes bright- 
ened at sight of Loring. 

"What luck to find you here!" he 
said with a pathetic survival of his 
wonted manner. "I was pfoing on to 
your offices after I'd seen Miss Dray- 
ton for a moment. Please don't go. 
I want you to hear what I have to 
say, and I'm sure Miss Drayton will 

not mind. I received your letter only 
this morning," he went on, address- 
ing the girl, who stood looking at him 
uncertainly, "and I've answered it in 
person because I'm going away to- 
night. I've decided to accept Loring's 
generous offer" (the girl flashed a 
swift glance at Loring, who flushed 
consciously), "and I'm leaving by mid- 
night express to connect myself with 
the Western branch of Loring & Endi- 
cott at San Francisco. I've decided 
I haven't the courage to stay and live 
it down, Loring. It wouldn't be easy, 
I'm afraid, even with your help. So 
I think I'll take your other offer and 
go West to begin again." He turned 
back to Constance. 

"I want to thank you for your let- 
ter," he said simply, "and to give it 
back to you. I've no right to it. It 
was written to an honest man. You 
can't know what it meant to me — 
but I've got to tell you — ^as I'm sure 
Loring has not done — ^that what you've 
heard of me is true. I left the club 
Friday night branded a cheat and a 
liar. But I'm not cad enough, believe 
me, to misinterpret your sympathy. I 
know that you don't care for — me ; I 
know that you never did. I managed 
to appeal to your generosity and play 
upon your sympathies so skillfully that 
I succeeded in persuading you that it 
was your duty to devote your lifr to 
makinc: :ne a better man — ^ doubtful 
undertaking and scarcely worth the 
price, I'm afraid. I was ahnost glad 
when you found out your mistoke, 
though I loved you, if I may say so, 
as well as a worthier man might have 
done. You appealed to the little good 
that was in me — ^and if I don't quite 
go to the bad after this, it will be due 
to you and to Loring, who didn't con- 
demn me in spite of my sins. Good- 
bye, Miss Dra)rton. Good-bye, Lorine 
— I won't ask you to shake hands — 
but I hooe you'll believe that I'm not 
ungrateful and try to think of me as 
kindly as you can." 

When he had gone, Constance stood 
in thoughtful silence for a moment. 

"I think he was worthy your inter- 
est, Victor," she said gently, at last. 
"He wasn't quite a cad, after all." 

Digitized by V^OOQlC 

By Stuart B. Stone 

If you plow your way through the 
dust straight out the Hartford road, 
half a mile due west from the court- 
house, and cross the railway track, 
vaulting the rail fence to your right, 
you find yourself on the baseball 
grounds.' Furthermore, if it be Satur- 
day morning, you will run upon a col- 
lection of noisy, gaudy-panted boys 
preparing for a game. 

There is probably an infernal uproar 
and clamor for first bat. The pre- 
miere with the ash stick is invariably 
claimed by Reddy Phelps and Jimmy 
Line and Toadfrog, but Toadfrog, 
freckled diplomat and born leader of 
men and ball-players, just as invariably 
heads the batting column. Toadfrog 
lacks the inches and years of some of 
the gang, but he has a way with him. 

This trio forms the van of the horde 
sprinting from Hill's store the moment 
Jimmy sings out: "Let's have a 
game!" "First bat! My first bat," 
they yelp until the grounds arc reached 
and the panting, perspiring array 
swarms around home plate. Then as 
the bunch overnms the diamond, some 
of the less assertive set forth their 
claims for second and third bats and 
the choicest positions in the field. 

It is to be a "scrub" game, mere prac- 
tice for the match contest in the after- 
noon between the Stars and the Moons. 
The Stars are slightly the seniors of 
the Moons, but the latter, having the 
rooters' S3rmpathy for the under dog, 
usually prove formidable opponents. 
Members of both nines are present, . 
mingling, fraternizing, distinguishable 
only by the color scheme of their trou- 

At the psychological moment Toad- 
frog settles the first bat problem by 
the statement that he "said it first," 
and with an air of finality picks up the 
stick. He spits upon his palms, bumps 
the bat thrice against the plate and 
strikes the pose he has noted and ad- 
mired in the half-tones on the pink and 
green sporting pages. 

"Socks" Williams, pitcher for the 
Stars, after a preliminary warming up 
with his catcher, occupies the box. 
"Socks" is to remain there for some 
time while the other players move up 
notch by notch as the batsmen suc- 
cumb to his prowess. This is neces- 
sary that his good right arm be in fine 
fettle for the afternoon game. 

"Right over the plate, Socksy," yells 
the "ketcher." And from a hideous, 
writhing contortion of adolescence 
comes the leather sphere, a quarter one 
purchased through general levy on the 

Toadfrog deals the horsehide an aw- 
ful swat and the ball bounds with ex- 
press train speed to Skinny at short. 
It is a "grass-cutter." Skinny falls all 
over himself, floundering like a sea 
lion, but manages to field to first. The 
ball is victor over Toadfrog by a clean 
two feet, but that masterful urchin re- 
mains firm on the bag. "Whut you 
tryin' to gimme !" he exclaims. "Beat 
it a mile, huh !" Instantly there is con- 
fusion and babel of tongues. The out- 
field runs in to lodge vehement protest 
against this high-handed proceeding. 
Toadfrog, however, has handled a 
thousand just such insurrections, and 
while the din is most horrible, bolts 
for second. There is a scramble to re- 

Digitized by 




cover positions, somebody throws wild, 
and Toadfrog plunges on to the third 
sack, dancing thereon in high glee. 

The game proceeds. Reddy, out- 
manoeuvred for first bat and accepting 
second as a compromise, now ad- 
vances. Reddy is a south paw, that 
is to say, he bats left handed. This 
calls for a general shifting of posi- 
tions, the experienced fielders deploy- 
ing to the left to be ready for the forth- 
coming hit. 

But Reddy's vision is impaired, or 
his bat is hardly large enough. "One 
strike!" comes shrilly from the um- 
pire. "Two strikes!" ' ^' ' 
then one, two and ti 
and hearts beat fast. 
ddet it!'' shouts 
Fatty at third. "Lay 
for him. Buck — 
watch out for a 
grounder I" 

Biff, like a black- 
face period punc- 
tuating the firma- < 
ment, the ball goes 
straight up in the 
ether. Socks and 
the masked man be- 
hind the bat go for 
it. Ball, pitcher, 
catcher meet at full 
tilt. Toadfrog 
prancing nervously 
on third and noting 
the "fly" has been 
"muffed," plunges 
for home. Reddy 
sits panting at first while Socks and 
the catcher wage verbal warfare. "It 
was my ball!" cries Socks. "You 
oughter let it alone. Makes me tired I" 

The belligerents calmed, the game 
goes on until each man has played all 
the positions and had his turn at the 
bat Then the restlessness of Young 
America asserts itself and the tame 
sport of scrub is abandoned for the 
more exciting game of "choose-up." 
A ten-minute rest is indulged in. A 
small boy is dispatched for water. 
The larger youths produce paper and 
tobacco and proceed to roll and smoke 
cigarettes, while the "kids" look on in 

awe and envy. Some day they, too, 
may be able to do as Toadfrog and 
Fatty and Red. Who knows? 

A hog-mother and brood of nine 
come rooting and grunting their way 
across the field, and the blue-panted 
Stars mingle with the white of the 
Moons in mad pursuit. 

There is a wrangle as to who shall 
choose up. The sentiment of the gath- 
ering finally resolves into a call for 
Fatty and Red, and these two gentle- 
men and champions step forth as the 
opposing captains. Now, since brooks 
ran to the sea and green g^s grew, 
r of choosing up is 
chooser tosses the bat 
;r, who catches it in 
midair. Then a fist- 
stalk process of pil- 
ing hand upon hand 
alternately is gone 
through with. 
The one whose hand 
i clutches the top of 
the bat must be able 
lonstrate his g^p by 
ig the stick over his 

f manages to coil a 
finger and thumb 
the ash and, with 
ance purple and dis- 
with the strain — for 
Dice means possession 
idfrog and probable 
— succeeds in hurling 
barely over his duck- 
ing head. 
"I'll take Toadfrog!" he pants. 
Then Red denominates the second 
greatest in balldom, and the boys are 
singled out in the order of their ability 
to slug and catch and pilfer bases, un- 
til nine are chosen for each side. The 
handful of rejected devotees console 
themselves with mutual assurances 
that they "didn't want to play, no- 
how," and the game of "sides" is 

A decayed, homeless shingle is spit 
upon. "Wet or dry. Fatty?" bawls 
Red. Fatty indicates his preference for 
the moistened side. The wood ascends 
into the atmosphere, drops to earth and 

Digitized by 



displays a perfect state of aridity. Red- 
dy's hosts will bat first. 

Fatty summons his legion around 
him, and with the air of the first em- 
peror assigning his marshals on the 
eve of battle, details them to their re- 
spective positions. Every man spits 
on his hands, adjusts his flannel uni- 
form trousers and settles down for 
grim work. The batsmen smite vi- 
ciously at the ball ; the infield crouches 
tense, expectant, hands on knees; the 
outfield, with less to do, throws stones 
at passing live stock 
and occasionally lies 
prone on the sod. 

By the end of the 
third inning the 
score - keeper an- 
nounces that Fatty's 
side has made 23 
scores while Red's 
bunch of sportsmen 
have circiunnavi- 
gated the bases but 
18 times. The pre- 
ponderance of Toad- 
frog is too great. 
His initiative, dar- 
ing ruid moral sup- 
port count heavy in 
the scale. Ah, none 
can stand against 

In the fourth, one 
of Reddy's minor 
lights, valiantly un- 
dertaking the captur 
at appalling speed, U 
bat with a sprained fi 
suspended while the 
the stricken comrade to tender sym- 
pathy, advice and chaff. It is urged 
that he rub the wounded member in 
the dirt and that it be pulled vigor- 
ously, while probably a dozen vile lo- 
tions from druggists' shelves are 
recommended. It is Saturday morn- 
ing, however, and almost half a holi- 
day gone. The wounded hero perches 
on the rail fence feeling vastly impor- 
tant with half a handkerchief wrapped 
round the swollen joint. A substitute 
must be provided, and a big boy, one 
Henry Johnson, a member of the 

Browns, the town's second team, ap- 
plies for the vacancy. Mr. Johnson 
grins patronizingly, and in answer to 
the demurrer setting forth his size and 
baseball attainments, declares he is no 
expert, states he is sunburned and stiS 
from swimming yesterday in Bear 
Creek, and agrees to bat left handed. 
The agreement is ratified after much 
protesting and the umpire Calls time. 
The morale of Reddy's team is some- 
how greatly improved by the addi- 
tion of Johnson, and in their half a 
vigorous batting ral- 
ly takes place. 

Jimmy Line, first 
man up, hits an aw- 
ful grounder right 
down toward Fatty, 
reposing on the ter- 
tiary bag. That 
accumulation of 
avoirdupois inter- 
poses two big paws 
in front of the ball, 
which eludes them 
and finds a haven in 
his right eye. Over 
he goes on the ver- 
dant sward while 
Jimmie, tongue 
hanging out and 
eyes bulging, is 
stopped in his tri- 
umphal progress at 
second. Fatty, re- 
suscitated by dint of 
vigorous slapping 
on the back, resumes 
^ his position, blink- 
ing mightily. 
Cricket, a diminu- 
tive gentleman, next astounds the mul- 
titude, and himself most of all, by lac- 
ing one out past short. It hums right 
through the equilateral triangle 
formed by the legs of "Pike" Nolan 
and the ground Inefore Mr. Nolan is 
aware of its proximity. His only re- 
course is to turn toward the outfield 
and shout frantically, "Put her here, 
Mealy, git him now! Nail him at 
second!" Meanwhile Cricket speeds 
for that base and Jimmy slides like 
an avalanche into the home plate, 

Digitized by 






tion. This is the day before the com- 
ing of "Qansmen" and ".Leopard's 
Spots" and pitchforks and grave, trou- 
blous questions of race and color. 
"Yaller" displays his teeth in a heav- 
enly grin, dazzles twirler Socks and 
fills the bases. 

Utterly hysterical and frenzied, Red- 
dy's rooters now rage up and down 
the coach lines. "Play up a little. 
Pug I" "Make 'im throw it, 'Dolphl" 
"None out, Yaller!" shriek the half- 
crazed urchins. Then Henry John- 
son, eighteen years of age, and a "big 
boy," occupies the plate. Fatty's co- 
horts, sullen, ominous, enraged at the 
turn of fortune, wax reckless. Reddy 
and his batsmen bold anticipate the 
intoxication of victory snatched from 
defeat and toss caps in the air. 

Spat I Mr. Johnson's slab has en- 
countered the sphere and reversed its 
swift course. The combined outfield 
is seen in a wild dash for the tall tim- 
ber toward which the ball is taking 
its meteoric flight. The three base- 
runners recognizing the uselessness of 
haste, walk in, derisively hooting the 
dismayed Fattyites. Mr. Henry John- 
son aggravates the insult altogether 

dred yards away and he might have 
crawled in. 

Next come 'Dolph Likins and Pug 
Dawson and "Yaller." "Yaller" is a 
mulatto of anonymous origin, banana- 


ly aevisea lor waiermeion consump- 

Digitized by 




unbearably by making a second round 
of the bases in jest. As he stalks by 
third, taunting Fatty, the captain of 
the now-defeated nine, trips him. Such 
intolerance from a big boy who has 
"butted in anyhow" cannot be brooked 
and instantly there is a riot. A wild, 
writhing tangle of blue and white, 
jeans and flannel, hickory bats and 
bare legs covers the vicinity of third. 
Intervention is of no use. The knot 
must unravel itself, and after an in- 
terval of knocking and clawing, with 
a general easing Iwick from the center, 
does unravel itself. Some cooler head 

shouts: "Aw, what's the difference, 
anyhow? Only beat us one and had 
to have one of the Browns to do that I" 
Then the age of tiunult passes and the 
era of reason begins again. Fatty, 
two fingers uplifted, says : "Let's go 
in — the water's fine," and with a yelp 
of delight the whole pack heads for 
the swimming hole. 

Oh, it's a great game, and the play- 
ers are our future money changers 
and scribes and wearers of ermine and 
purple ! 

Verily, is it a great game — ^the na- 
tional game. 


(HE county fairs have 
been in full blast in 
Tennessee this fall, 
but I did not know 
that old Wash had 
been off trying to 
run one until he 
ambled into my 
study the other 
night, the hungriest- 
looking, most woe-begone darky in 
Tennessee. He had rheumatism in his 
back, mesmerism in his head and a 
have-you-got-any-cold-victuals kind of 
a look spread over his countenance. I 
thought he had been through the fam- 
ine in India and had floated home on 
the gang-plank of a wrecked vessel. 

"Look erheah, boss," he said, as soon 
as he had stuck his head in the door- 
way, as if trying to distract attention 
from his own looks, "I jes' cum ober 
to ax you is de gol'-bug de microbe uv 
de yaller fever." 

"Why, no," I said. "It's a different 
disease altogether." 

"Wal, jes' tell me, den," he said em- 
phatically, "when dat wave of pros- 
perity gwine ter git out'n de three- 
minnit class, ennyway — ^jes' tell me !" 
As this was too much for me, I had 
to take the old man's sarcasm and say 

"I tell you, suh," he went on, "when 
er man starts out on a campain on de 
circus whar I b'en, wid a stable uv 
bosses, he better take 'is dinner an' 'is 
'possum dorg erlong wid 'im, or he'll 
go hongry sho!" 

I looked at the old man in astonish- 
ment. When I had seen him last, he 
was fat and hearty. 

"Where have you been?" I asked, 
"that you should bob up in this well- 
fed neighborhood looking like an old 
horse led off to the shambles?" 

"Hit all cum erbout dis way," said 
the old man shamefacedly. "You see, 
I dun b'en out on a campain. De 
cullud fo'ks gin er fair down in Giles 
County an' I thort I'd go down, take 
my ol' pie-ball pacer an' rake in all de 
filthy luker floatin' erroun' dar. You 
see," he said proudly, "my ol' boss 
hoi' er worl' record — he am an' 
'only.' " 

"How so?" I asked in feigned sur- 

"He am de only boss in de worl' dat 
hab a record uv 2 129, a curb, two spav- 
ins an' a glass eye! Dar am a boss 
in Ingyanner dat hab a record uv 2 129, 
a curb, one spavin an' a glass eye, but 
he ain't in it wid my ol' Pie Ball. Yas, 
suh, dat's de wurl's record he hoi's. 
An' so, ez I wuz sayin', I thort I'd jes' 

Digitized by 




go down an' rake in dat filthy Inker 
wid 'im. I didn't hab no harness, but 
I happen ter think erbout de little red- 
an'-whitc steer dat died so handy-lak 
las* winter jes' in time fer me ter feed 
all de preachers dat filled my house en- 
durin' de deestrick conferdence," the 
old man winked, ''an' I made er mighty 
good set uv harness outen his hide. 
You see, I didn't hab time ter git de 
ha'r oflfen it, an' when my ol' blue pie- 
ball pacer got ter pacin' fas' down dar 
erroim' dat track, I tell you, suh, hit 
wuz de prooties' sight you eber seed — 
he made er red-white-an'-bluc streak 
d'ar 'roun* dat track, an' de niggers 
all hoorayed an' say he look lak de 
speerit uv Star P'inter wrap'd in de 
flag uv our country an' gwine in 
I -59^4 ' I've patentid dat idee in har- 
ness, an' I'm gwine ter use it nex' yeah 
fur speckticle eflFec'." 

I looked interested, and the old man 
came in and sat down in his usual 
chair, near the door. 

"Wal, but whar to git de sulky wuz 
de naix question. Arter thinkin' ober 
it I des remembered dat Brer Moses 
Armstrong had marr'd de widder 
Johnson's buxomes' gal las' fall an' he 
had bin er-haulin' truck ter town in er 
ole high-wheel sulky dat Marse Ed 
Geers use ter train ole Hal P'inter wid 
at de ole track down by de crick. Now, 
I knowed whut Brer Moses would 
soon need wuss'n ennything in dis 
worl', an' so I swop 'im dat ole ellum 
cradle dat me an' Dinah done raise all 
de chillun in, fer dat sulky. An' when 
I hitch ol' Pie Ball up, suh, he ack 
dat proud an' sassy I felt mighty nigh 
es good es er buxum widder angel in 
er paradise uv bal'-haided men. I 
knowed all de excheckers uv dat Giles 
County fair wuz jes' ez good ez re- 
posited in de cash drawer uv my 
britdies pocket an' I jes' lit out fer 
Giles County wid great expectashuns 
in de sulky an' 61' Pie Ball in de shaf 's. 

"But when I got down dar, suh, 
whut you reckin dem niggers dun dar? 
Dar wuz a mighty crowd uv 'em at 
de fair groun's, an' de fus' thing I 
seed wuz dis paper stuck up all ober 
de groun's, an' on de trees an' fences." 

and the old man pulled out an old- 
time poster headed with a darky lead- 
ing an ass, whose ears were longer 
than his legs. I looked and it read : 


Gran' picknick an free-fur-all pace at er 
race track nex' Safdy. Ladies an' gents, 
widders an' yaller gals, 'specially invited to 
percipertate, but babies an' Meferdis' 
preediers barred. De followin' fam'us 
drivers wid deir bosses will be dar: 

Free-fur-all pace. Purse, Bre'r Shadradc 

Lewis's Coon Dorg. 
Pie Ball B. R. G. G. N. H. H 

Bre'r Washington. 

Limber Jim B. M. K. P. L. D 

Bre'r Simon SugB;s. 

Kuntry Sawsage G. J. N. S. U. D. B 

Bre'r Lay Low. 

Admisshun loc: but enny gent escortin' 
er yaller legged chicken er gall kin cum in 
free. De CuMMixTy. 

"That's plain enough," I laughed, 
as I handed him back the poster, "but 
all these letters after the entries — 
what do they mean ?" 

"Oh, dat's patentid," said the old 
man, "dat's plain emough— dat's 
plain emough. Dem letters am new 
things on de track an' am dead good 
tips to de crowd. Don't you loiow 
whut Pie Ball, B. R. G. G. N. H. H. 
means?" he asked. "Why it means, Pie 
Ball, Blue Roan Gelding, Got No 
Holes in Him!'" 

"Ah, I see now," I said, "and the 
other is Limber Jim, bay mare — " 

"No, suh," cried the old man, "you 
wrong ergin. De naix one means, 
'Limber Jim, Bay Mule, Kin Pace Lak 
De Debil,' an' de las' one am 'Kuntry 
Sawsage, Gray Jinny, Not Skeered uv 
De Ban I' An' dat's whut made me 
mad," went on the old man ; "I 'spect- 
ed ter meet bosses, not mules and jin- 
nies an' I raised er mighty kick. I driv 
up ter er nigger settin' sidewize in de 
saddle on er ole gray mule in front uv 
de jedge's stan'. Sez I sorter mad-lak : 

"'Mister, whar am de seckerterry 
uv dis associashun, an' whar am his 
headquarters ?' 

"He drawed hisse'f up an' say, sorter 
bitter-lak : 

" 'Ef you contemplates formulaliir 

Digitized by 




amy interrogashuns consarnin' de 
regulashuns uv dis 'sociashun, suh, I 
b^^ ter circumnavergate enny pre- 
vious disquietude by info'min* you dat 
/ am de seckerterry, suh, an' my haid- 
quartahs am in de saddle, suh V 

"I shot er dagger look at 'im an' 
sez I, quiet-lak: 

** *I knowed you wuz er damfool, 
soon ez I seed yer, but I thort you 
knowed de diff'unce twixt yo' haid- 
quartahs an' yo' tailquartahs, suh!' 
An' den I lit inter dat nigger an' dat 
associashun ! I tol' 'em I fotch my fa- 
mous boss all de way down dar ter race 
ei^^ hosses, not mules an' jinnies, an' 
fur munny, not coon dorgs an' chitlin's. 
But de fools up in de j edges' stan' — 
an' you know it am de easies' place in 
de worl' fur fools ter git inter — lowed 
dat dat wuz er pacin' race, an' dis wuz 
de Ian' uv de free an' home uv de 
pacin' boss, an' bofe de jinny an' de 
mule would make me think dey sho'ly 
had de right ter compeet fer de coon 

" 'But how you 'spec' me, ef I win,' 
sez I, 'ter feed my boss an' me wid a 
coon dorg? I kain't eat 'im,' sez I. 

"'Dat's all right. Brer Washing- 
ton,' sed de jedges, 'but sense de gol'- 
bugs dun cohnered all de munny in 
de kuntry, we hafter git back ter fus' 
principles, an' so we make coon dorgs 
en sech things our mejums uv ex- 
change. An' I tells you right now dat 
er coon dorg am good fur ten dollars' 
wuf uv sawsages enny day in dese 
parts. Why, you am bettah off dan 
de 2:24 pace,' sez he — ^" dat's payable 
in cbillin s an' tuckey tails.' 

"Wal, I seed I wuz in it, an' ez I 
wanted er good coon dorg enny way, 
an de widder Johnson dat I wuz kinder 
seckin' arter bed cum out ter see me 
win, I jes' 's well make de bes' uv hit, 
so I hook up ol' Pie Ball an' cum out 
on de track. An' Law bless yo' soul, 
you jes' orter seen de 'plaws we got! 

"But hit made me mad when dat 
blamed oY padn' mule an' jinny cum 
out on de track. Befo' dey eben gib 
us de wurd, dat ol' mule tuck ter 
buckin' an' er-snortin', an' she skeered 
or Pie Ball so he run Inter wifWcr 

Johnson, dat I wuz courtin' an' bed 
cum out ter see me go in all my glory ; 
hit 'er square in de sttunmidc, stept 
on her fifth wheel, an' punctured her 
tire — leastwise dat's whut I heerd 'em 
say ! De ole lady fainted an' dey had 
ter take her off an' blow her up ag'in — 
leastwise, dat's whut dey tol' me. An' 
she ain't spoke to me sencel Dey had 
tulc de coon dorg up in de jedges' 
Stan' — ^to he'p jedge de race, I 'spec' — 
an' es we cum by in all our glory, dar 
he set, lookin' mighty nachul-lak an' 
lu4)py, an' hit tickled him so he 
barked lak a' ol' army petard jes' es 
we got op'site 'im, an' it skeered ol' 
Pie Ball so he paced clean ober de 
fence, an' back ergin an' den beat de 
gang home two links. Oh, I wuz sho' 
proud! But when I got back, whut 
you reckin dem fool jedges say to 

"Dey say: 'Brer Washington, we 
fine you a poun' uv terbacker fur layin' 
up dat heat.' 

" 'Good Heben, gen'l'men,' sez I, *I 
didn't lay up no heat — I won it.' 

" *De new rule say you shain't lay 
up no heat, don't it, sub?' sed de 

" 'In cose it do, but I didn't lay up 
no heat ; I won it, I tell you.' 

" 'Brer Washington, you don't ketch 
us. When you lay up a dollar you 
sabe it, don't you ?' 

"'Yes,' sez I. 

" 'Wal, you sabe dat heat an' in cose 
you lay hit up. Whut's layin' up er 
heat but sabin' it?' sez dey. 'In cose 
de heat's yo'n, but we hafter go by de 
rules an' fine you jes' de same. Jes* 
ban' us out dat poun' er terbacker,' 
dey say, 'or you don't go 'possum hunt- 
in' behin' dat dorg. How you 'spec' 
'sociashuns gwineter prosper ef dey 
don't tax de winner?' 

"I wuz bilin' mad, an' I sed, sorter 
bitter-lak : 'Gen'l'men, I means ter cas' 
no inflicshuns on yo' feracity, but 
hadn't you bettah let de coon dorg 
jedge de res' uv dis race?' Den I 
tu'ns off smilin', sarcasm-lak. But dey 
didn't min' my talk ertall, but calls fo' 
de naix' heat. 

"Wal suh, we got off fur de nqix' 

Digitized by 




heat, but dat dorg-jedge up in de gran' 
Stan' cu'dn't keep 'is mouf shet ter 
sabe 'is life. 'Sides dat, he cum er- 
t'arin' down arter us an' chased us up 
de track lak er yaller cyclone in a bam 
lof '. I've heerd uv drivers chasin' stakes 
befo'," laughed the old man, "but I 
nurver heerd uv de stake er-chasin' 
de drivers. Hit skeercd ol' Pie Ball 
inter a break, but hit skeered de ol' 
mule an' de jinny into de fas'es' pace 
dat I eber seed turn er comer I Befo' 
I knowed it dey wuz er-goin' down de 
track lak a pair uv ol' msty lizards 
down er rail fence, an' ef eber I had 
enny doubt 'bout dat ol' mule an' jin- 
ny bein' in de free-fur-all pacin' class, 
hit soon lef ' me an' no mustake I Befo' 
I knowed hit dey wuz er quahter uv er 
mile ahaid uv me, wid dat coon dorg 
still er-chasin' 'em an' er-barkin' an' 
bofc uv 'em er-pacin' lak er team. De 
ol' jinny's ye'rs wuz laid back lak er 
jack rabbit's, an' de ol' mule's wuz 
laid for'ds lak de cow-ketcher uv a 
steam ingine. Her tail p'inted to'des 
de Nawth Stah, an' his'n to'des de 
horizon, an' twixt 'em, es long es de 
dorg kep in de rear, dey wuz er-bust- 
in' P'inter's record all ter pieces. I 
reefed an' reefed ol' Pie Ball, but when 
he settled we wuz so fur behin' we 
cu'dn't tell which way ter go, so I jes' 
follered de coon dorg's bark lak I wuz 
out 'possum huntin' an' driv on. An' 
somebody hollered out, 'Does you 
think dey kin pace now. Brer Wash- 
in'ton?' an' I heerd de niggers laf 
lak dey fall outen de gran' stan'. 

"Thinks I ter myse'f, sump'n' got- 
ter be done er me an' Pie Ball gwine 
ter be beat by de oneryes' pa'r dat 
eber went roun' er track. 

"Now, when you can't win by speed, 
you mus' try sump'n' else," said the 
old man sagely. "De bes' gine'als, 
whuther in a race er in a war, am de 
ones dat's got brains up dey sleeve es 
well es in dey haids, an' de man dat 
kin look on de laws uv common sense 
an' circumsense am jes' dat much bet- 
tah off dan de one dat do nufiin' but 
shoot de guns he happen ter hab. 
Now, when I wuz young I lamed ter 

blow my mouf lak er dinner hawn, an' 
when I seed dey had me beat, I jes' 
slapped my han' up ter my jaw an' 
sed, Toot — toot — tuu — uu — u — ut jes' 
lak er dinner hawn fer all de worl'." 
Here the old man laughed till he near- 
ly fell out of his chair. 

"An' whut you reckin happen? 
Why, dat blame ol 'mule thort it wuz 
de dinnah hawn sho' 'nuff, en es he 
b'en allers stopped what dat tooted, he 
stopped es quick es a pewter bullet 
when it hits er mud bank, an' Brer 
Simon Sugg div outen dat sulky seat 
laker skeered bullfrog huntin' fer wai- 
ter. Den de ole mule tum roun' an' 
answer dat hawn wid: 'Kehonk — ke- 
honk — kehee — ee — e — ef jes' es na- 
chul es all de worl'. 

"An' de ol' jinny," here the old man 
had another paroxysm of laughter, 
"she thort she recognized dat voice, 
hit soun' so much lak de mule's daddy, 
an' she stopped so suddin she an' de 
sulky bofe kicked up behin' an' sent 
Brer Lay Low huntin' fur grass, an' 
befo' dey knowed it I paced by de 
whole gang an' lay up anur'r heat! 
Sho' 'nuff de fool jedges fine me ag'in, 
but I wuz 'tarmin'd ter hab dat coon 
dorg an' I paid hit lak a man. 

" *De puss am yo'n, Brer Washin'- 
ton,' said de jedges; *git you a good 
rope an' go haul it in.' " 

Here the old man sighed audibly and 
showed every inclination to stop. 

"Well, I hope it was a good dog," 
I said sympathetically. 

"Boss, you ain't nurver b'en in er 
race wid er pacin' mule, is you ? Wal, 
you ain't posted on de cussedness uv 
dat animule. When I went down dc 
stretch ter git my stake, de cussed mule 
had paced ober him an' kilt him ! My 
puss sho' wuz daid ! I traded ol' Pie 
Ball off fur a good dinnah en emuff 
munny ter git home wid, an' when I 
go out on de gran' circus ergin hitTl 
be ter pace fer de dollars uv our dad- 
dies an' not fur coon dorgs en chit- 
lin's." And the old man ambled out 
to put an extra corn pone and some 
sweet potatoes in the ashes, when he 
covered up his fire for the night 

Digitized by 



By Lewis Worthington Smith 

It is an April evening and the gas is 
lighted. A few students are scattered 
about the room busy with books and 
their lessons. The librarian is at her 
desk near one of the windows, where 
she is somewhat secluded. 

The voices of students are heard 
singing through the open window of a 
house across the street. 

Oh, what IS all of Plato's lore 

And what the joy divine 
Of worshipping with lifted eyes 

Before the Delphic shrine, 
To this of holding unrebuked 

Your little hand in mine, 
Since amor in the class to-day 

We neither could decline? 

Oh, what are all the molecules 

That ever wandered free 
In search of new affinities, 

Ca plus CO3, 
Compared with this eternal bond 

Uniting you and me, 
Because our valence is the same, 

And so our souls agree? 

The librarian sits musingly a mo- 
ment with a strange smile on her face. 
Even when a man enters the library 
and approaches her, she does not look 
up until he is almost at her side. Then 
she gives a quick cry. 


What! Frank! I did not— 


I came 
own best 

No, of course. 

Unheralded, because my 

Held not this promise eariier than to- 

I never knew before I got so near 
That not the wealth of all Golconda's 

Could draw me by without a passing 

At these old halls, where ten long years 

We turned with ready hearts to face 

the world 
In our yoimg wisdom. 


Ten? Is it so long? 
And never back again in all that time? 
It seems impossible. 


It should have been. 
Until to-day I never knew how much 
I have been needing the old sights and 

And all the memories. The world I 

the world ! 
It is so big, so strange, so wonderful. 
And I had set my will to battle down 
Its lets and hindrances until my heart 
Laughed in the conquest. Oh, it's 

hard, hard, hard! 
I never knew ; but, after all, the joy 
When with my hands grown tired, my 

hope sunk low. 
The joy at last to see the end show 

clear i 
That pays for all. 


And you have seen the end ? 
I need not ask. I should have known 

at once. 
I see you now just as you used to be. 
Strong, happy, eager always, come 

what might, 
And equal always to the last demands. 

Digitized by 





What have they been? What have you 

done? I know 
It must be wonderful. 


What have I done? 
I could be happy talking all the night. 
Telling you how I tried and seemed to 

And failed and tried again. What have 

I done? 
Oh, something, something; they are 

strange, wild things, 
But mainly I have lived and found life 

And pushed the lives of others farther 

My eyes have seen the sunset as a lure 
And followed, making paths, great 

paths of iron, 
Bridging the streams and piercing 

through the hills. 
Testing the joys of fresh experience. 
And feeling still the distance as a prize 
Of ever-changing wonder. 


Roving yet 
As always. How your boyish fancies 

In gay disdain of our more sluggish 

And equally of books and tasks and 

That made us slaves while you were 

free as air. 


Not roving, Ella, only going on. 

Watching the flood-tide of my fellows' 

Flowing behind me through the ways 
I make. 

And feeling somehow that within my- 

I live a thousand things they live and 

With all their joys. Not roving, no, 
but you? 

Tell me about yourself. 


About myself? 

She pauses, looking at him a mo- 
ment in a startled and strange per- 

If there were anything about myself, 
If there were anything, — blank, all a 

Her eyes fall away from his in an 
unhappy musing, and, while they are 
both silent, the voices of the students 
come to them again from the house 
across the street. In a subdued reverie 
they listen together. 


Oh, I went down to Isaac's store, 
I had a watch and some things more. 
I never had seen the man before. 
Oh, I never had met the man before ; 
But he took my watch and I todc his 

(As I left the store the air seemed 
And I spent it all on Susie, 
She never thanked me« but then I'm 
That that's the way with Susie, 
A way that's just like Susie. 

Next morning, too, as I went to class, 
She asked the time, alack, alas i 
I blushed and smiled like a looking- 
And lied for the honor of the fresh- 
man class; 
And then, as I thought of my watch 

and gold, 
' feU my spine grow prickly cold. 

I needed more for Susie. 
You must throw your all at her feet, 
I'm told, 
For that's the way with Susie, 
A sweet, strange way in Susie. 

It was her fault that I couldn't speak 
A single word that day in Greek, 
And so she smiled cm a senior freak 
Who showed in the class a learned 

They sat on the campus while he told 
The tense or case. I grew more bold 

To catch a glance from Susie. 
She saw me, but her eyes were cold ; 
But that's the way with Susie, 
That's why we all love Susie. 

The song stops, but they both 
listen a moment longer while the ac- 
companist continues drumming on the 
piano. The singing and the presence of 

Digitized by 




the man beside her have taken her back 
a long way, and the signs of that are 
glistening in her eyes. 


The same old foolishness — I half for- 
As if I ever could forget! That 

room, — 
It was that very room a night like this, 
That is the memory that brought me 

That still was singing, singing in my 

That came upon me like a breath of 

When some one told me that you still 

were here, 
Still to be won; and I have dared — 

you know. 
You loved me then ; you said you loved 

me then. 
It is no sudden love I bring or ask. 
Here where it grew and failed me for 

a time. 
It springs again with the old leaf and 

And now, this moment, while the old 

free joy 
Is tremulous upon the air we breathe, 
I offer it again, I ask again. 
Let us be happy without fear or pause. 
I should not come so suddenly, I know, 
I should not startle you in this wild 

But so I must or never speak at all. 
Because I have no more than thi^ brief 

And then must lose you. No, it can- 
not be; 
You will not let it be. 


It is so long, 
And I had half forgotten once — I 

I am so tightened in these bonds of 

These diains of habit— oh, if you had 

Long, long ago,— 

She has before listened to him in a 
tumult of startled feelings, and now 
she pauses afraid of the consenting in- 
clinations of her own heart. 


It cannot be too late. 
Life is before us both like a long joy. 
Things to be seen and felt and dreamed 

and tried. 
There is so much, so much you have 

not known 
To which I long to take you. We shall 

Through fresh adventures from this 

little world 
Where both of us have nourished all 

our hopes 
In leaping fancies, never yet so real 
Or half so beautiful. It needs no 

Than to be brave against our petty 

No wish half-hearted ever blazoned 

In sure fulfillment. Let me lead you 

Into my world of things too strange 

and new 
10 give you one r^jet for this you 


She has risen and stands before him, 
trembling in the realisation of the 
possibility that he offers her. One by 
one those who have been working with 
the books in the library have gone out, 
until there is left only a single student 
in a remote corner. 


To come when I have lost the power 
to live. 

Sunk in these cards and titles, names 
and shelves, 

Busied with catalogues and dumb de- 

Of endless labor feeding other minds — 

For every one but me these books have 

And cry out meanings with a herald's 
voice ; 

But I — you should have left me un- 
disturbed — 

It is not fair — you should not — when 
you knew — 

She sinks back into her chair in the 
failure of her voice and sits there in a 
helpless surrender to the things that 
have come over her, while he looks at 

Digitized by 




her in doubtful understanding. In 
that moment of silence, a young man 
and a girl pass below the window near 
them, talking and laughing softly. 


I have come quickly j you are over- 
There was no other way, and eveij 

I cannot wait, I still must urge your 

I had an hour to find you, speak my 

And take the chances of your heart's 

The old life came upon me, happy, 

Thrilling with careless rapture like a 

Who whistles, turns upon his hands 

and flings 
His feet in air, and then goes whis- 
tling on. 
We have been bondsmen of our tasks 

too long. 
Both you and I. To-morrow let us 

As if we sang — what were the words 

we sang 
When you were young too, in that 

same old room. 
Classmates and lovers? Gone? Of 

course they're p^ne. 
Gone and forgotten like a jest that 

From lip to lip until the table roars 
And asks another. Shall we hear the 

And warm our hearts with laughter? 

Let us try. 

The one remaining student in the li- 
brary comes to the librarian's desk to 
ask about a book which he has been 
looking for. The need of meeting his 
inquiry brings her to better control of 
herself, and she goes away among the 
stacks with him. While she is gone, 
the man listens again to the singing 
across the street. 


Oh, what shall be the greeting when 
the boys are coming back? 

When the hands are on the keyboard 

and the music on the rack ? 
When we gather, gather, gather in the 

places that we knew ? 
When the leader starts the chorus and 

the fellows follow through? 
Hands all together! young and old 

are one. 
Here the days are passed away and 

life is just begun. 
Hearts all together! take your place 

With sophomores and freshies.who 

are learning to be men. 

The bench's robe of ermine and the 

senate's dress of state 
Put off, before you enter, for a gar- 
ment less sedate. 
The world has given you honors 

crowned your forehead unawares. 
But here among the juniors there is 

not a soul that cares. 
Hands all together ! youth is ours once 

Here the days are passed away and life 

is all before. 
Hearts all together! take your place 

With all the boys of once and now just 

learning to be men. 

Bring each your fund of stories of the 

campus, rain and shine. 
Of tasks and jokes and rivalries, and 

pour them out like wine. 
Tell over all your tremblings when 

commencement came in view. 
For still among the seniors there are 

those that tremble too. 
Hands all together! pledge the dear 

old halls. 
You who learned of love and life with- 
in these ancient walls. 
Hearts all together! take your place 

With boys who sing the joys of youth 

and flout the cares of men. 

The librarian comes back to her desk 
alone. Her face has a more settled 
content, and the man takes that as a 
sign of her having reached a mood of 
consenting. It is a spirit of gentle and 
sympathetic encouragement, rather 
than of urgency, in which he now 

Digitized by 





I have been sure that you could not 

It is my time to go ; one little word 
Will bring me back to help you build 

Those airy castles that our hands flung 

Too idly, wantonly. 


Black ruins now ; 
Let them stay ruins. In this moment's 

The truth comes back to me ; I know 

Know what I was and what I cannot 

And all the dwarfing I have suffered 

For these long years — that shuts me 

out at last 
From any prc«nise of a nobler joy 
That you might lead me to. The shell 

of things 
Has been by pleasure, backs of books 

in rows 
That I have touched and handled, la- 
bled, placed. 
And passed to others, but have never 

I am but shell myself; the wine of 

Raised to my lips, would be too strong 

a draught. 
I put it by, I can but put it by, 
And afterward remember — what we 

We cannot cease to be for new de- 
And new occasions. I have starved 

so long 
That I must starve forever — only 

I thank you for the proffer and the 

I shall lose it ever as a thing 
Too lightly prized. I shall have 

seemed to live. 
Because I hold it like a glow of fire 

In some dim chamber where no stran- 
ger treads, 

Making the walls a splendor of old 

The heart has treasured for its dear- 
est hours. 

So much I take — and give you — 


All yourself, 
All and enough, whatever that may 

I do not ask the girl my boyhood 

We both are older. 


What I should have been, 
The girlhood promise that you used to 

know — 
If that were mine — if — gone, forever 

Your free, glad life, my straightened 

narrowness — 
You cannot mate the eagle and the 

And you and I — we were not wise 

I should have loved you once; you 

come too late. 
We both are used to thwartings ; let it 

And I shall be the braver for this 

Braver and happier until I die. 

The last remaining student has gone 
home, and nozv^ there is a step at the 
door which the librarian recognises as 
that of the girl who was to call for her 
and go home with her. By an involun- 
tary impulse she raises her hand, and 
the man puts it to his lips. Then the 
door opens, the girl enters, and the 
three go out together. The singing 
across the street has ceased, and in its 
place some one is playing the **Lore- 
lei" on the flute. As they pass out the 
door, the janitor enters and goes 
around turning out the lights one by 

Digitized by 



By Moncure Lyne 

— iLD DINAH sat by 
' her hearthstone, 
smoking a corn- 
cob pipe while the 
rankest odor of to- 
b a c c o pervaded 
the atmosphere. 
Though an ash- 
cake baked on the 
red-hot coals, there was a meditative 
look in the old woman's eye, amount- 
ing almost to sadness. Dinah was per- 
plexed to a state of bewilderment as 
she listened to the chatter of her off- 
spring, for Geneva had the floor — and 
Geneva was Dinah's educated grand- 
daughter. With an affected precision, 
she spoke a language very different 
from the vernacular lisped at her 
grandmother's knee. It was the Eng- 
lish that public-school education has 
grafted on the Afro-American's tree 
of knowledge. 

'Thursday," observed the girl, '*is 

*'An' in de name uv glory, whut's 
dat ?" asked Dinali. 

*'Why, grandmama! the idea of such 
a question. But then, being born a 
slave, it is not surprising that you are 
not enlightened. Thanksgiving is the 
greatest day in the calendar of New 
England. It was inaugurated by the 
Pilgrim Fathers." 

"Wuz Pres'den' Lincoln one uv de 
Pilgrim Fathers?" asked Dinah calmly. 
"No, no indeed; they were very re- 
ligious, good people," began Geneva; 
but old Dinah interrupted. 

"Chile, I knows Lincoln wuz a good 
man ; an' I b'leeves you is mix'd dar. 

fer he inaug'rated us — de word means 
set us free — dat's whut." 

Geneva smiled, but made no com- 
ment, as she continued : 

"On Thanksgiving, every family is 
supposed to feast on turkey." 

**Now, I'se sho' you is mix'd up 
somewhar, for dat is Christmus whut 
you talkin' 'bout; an' I ain't neber 
heerd uv no Pilgrim Fathers habin' 
nuthin' to do wid Chris'mus — unless 
dat am de new fangled name fer de 
Wise Men f'um de East — ^bnt my ole 
miss useter tell me dat Abe Lincoln 
come f'um de West — so'se I is all stirr'd 
roun' 'bout de p'ints uv de compass; 
but tuhky reminds me uv de bes' place 
in Gawd's green wuhld, ole Virginny." 

Geneva gave her grandparent a pity- 
ing glance. "I hope," she said, **that 
we may have a turkey at Thanksgiv- 
ing, like other people." 

**Lan' sakes!" broke in Dinah, *'de 
day uv miracles am ober; whar's I 
gwine ter git a tuhky, way here at 
de Norf, wid no roost dat I knows 
nuthin' 'bout? Seems to me, book- 
larnin' don't teach you no common 
sense." And Dinah finished her sen- 
tence with a grunt of disgust. 

Frequently, though furtively, had 
Dinah sighed for those halcyon days 
when "ole marse" and "ole miss" 
provided for all her needs in the child- 
like life of the Virginia plantation ; for 
her burden of responsibilities increased 
every year, so that the darky, g^own 
old, sighed for the irresponsibilities 
of youth. She would not, however, 
have Geneva guess it; no, not for 
worlds. The girl, belonging to a new 

Digitized by 




era of thought and of time, could not 
have appreciated her longings ; so Di- 
nah bowed to the inevitable, and meta- 
phorically adjusted her thinking-cap. 
Soon the door closed on Geneva, who 
was oflF for a constitutional, leaving 
her grandmother to enjoy alone the 
exercise of the wash-tub, for Dinah 
was a laundress. That was the title 
Geneva had bestowed, though the old 
darky spoke of herself always simply 
as a "wash-'oman.** 

Left to herself, the old slave enjoyed 
the privilege of musing aloud. 

"Now, ef twuz jist Chris'mus," said 
she, "er body might be lak de chillun 
an' 'xpec' ole Kris ter fetch dat tuhky 
— but' dat's all foolishness, here at de 
Norf, 'cause whar folks libs on cold 
bread, dar ain't no chimbly wuth 
speakin' Tx)ut, lak dem down Souf 
whar is big 'nuff fer ter lay a fence- 
rail 'cross de fiah." 

Reflections on Dixie seemed to sug- 
gest somethilng more tangible than 
pleasant memories, for suddenly her 
face brightened, like a ray of sunshine 
streaming through a chink in the wall. 
Crossing the room rapidly, she knelt 
by an old chest ; and after wiping the 
soap-suds from her hands with her 
apron, she carefully lifted the top. For 
some moments she rummaged, but 
finally a faded velvet reticule rewarded 
her search. Returning to the fire, old 
Dinah poked the embers until they 
blazed into a flame. Squatting close 
to their light, she cautiously untied the 
string of the little bag. As she did 
so. a rabbit-foot fell from it and rolled 
to the floor. With the superstition of 
her race, the eyes of the negress 
brightened, her lips parted in a smile, 
revealing blue gums. 

"Dar now!" she exclaimed, "I 
knowed hit gwine to bring me luck 
f um de way hit fell, wid de toes turn 
to de fire, like de ole molly ha'r wuz 
er-warmin' herse'f. Dat mean good 
luck fer dis here ole nigger, sho' ez 
you bawn, 'case hit 'pear lak de rabbit 
am sati'fied an' gwine tarry. 'Twa'n't 
lak de toes turn'd to de do', fer dat 
w'uld mean dat de luck wuz gwine 

out f'um Dinah's house— f'um de 
very hairthstone hitse'f." 

Her Icmg black fingers felt in the 
reticule searchingly ; then slowly drew 
forth several bills of Confederate 
money. Convulsively Dinah clutched 
it — for this was money, or rather it 
used to be. It was the darky's lucky- 
piece, kept in her purse to keep witches 
away. Dinah had never definitely un- 
derstood why if it bought things in 
days gone by, it could not now. The 
change in the currency was beyond her 
comprehension. Necessity for money, 
however, now brought into play her 
ingenuity. When Dinah had left Rich- 
mond just after the war, her "old mis- 
tis" had given her that reticule as a 
keepsake, explaining that the contents 
were worthless save as a relic. But 
somehow the darky had never been 
fully ccmvinced of the fact. 

**Ef 'tis gone out uv use," she rea- 
soned, "hit's gwine ter come back in 
fashion some day, 'long wid dat good 
hoopskirt ole miss done throw'd away 
—so I'se gwine ter keep hit, so'se to 
be ready when de time do come." 

Dinah considered the question se- 
riously. The more she thought, the 
more plausible it seemed. Old clothes 
could be remodeled and made to do 
service again, so why could nof money ? 
Surely the only difference the darky 
could see was in the color. The notes 
she held in her hand were blue, while 
those used nowadays were green. That 
they represented two distinct govern- 
ments Dinah did not realize. To her 
mind money meant barter and nothing 
more. All else would have been be- 
yond her comprehension. But she was 
shrewd ; for years of substituting and 
improvising had whetted her wits, so 
that now she looked at the Confederate 
money in the light of a buried talent. 

''Why couldn't I dye hit green?" 
thought she, "fer den hit would be in 
de fashion." 

This idea having once taken root in 
her mind, was quick to bear fruits of 
possibilities. Bread eaten in secret is 
pleasant, temptation in the guise of a 
turkey is powerful. So Dinah pon- 

Digitized by 




With the folk-knowledge of her 
early training, she knew the juice of 
spinach set with copperas, made a 
good green dye for general purposes ; 
but having neither the spinach nor 
copperas, "drugsto' dye" would be 
cheaper and surer, so she decided to 
try it. Hastily shoving the reticule in 
her pocket, she threw her ragged 
shawl over her head and shambled out 
in the street. As soon as the nearest 
drug-store was reached, with the reck- 
lessness characterizing speculators, 
Dinah's last dime was Invested in a 
package of green dye. 
* * * 

When the Confederate notes had 
been duly turned to greenbacks, the 
old darky surveyed them with a ra- 
diant smile. 

**I *clar," said she, "dey looks good 
ez new, spankin' new ! Nobody would 
ever think ter look at 'em, dat dey is 
long ober thurty years ole — I b'liebe 
dey looks mos' too new !" 

Then an idea came to her and she 
squeezed them tightly in her hand. 
When she surveyed them again, a 
chuckle of satisfaction burst from her 
lips, as she added : 

"Now, dey is jist right; wrinkledy 
an' eben more fashion'bly. Lordy, but 
dis here old nigger am rich shore 
'nuff ! I got money ter buy me a whole 
flock uv tuhkies ; an' udder vittles be- 
sides, ef I likes. But won't Geneva be 
s'prised at de layout Tse gwine to 
spread !" 

Though the old woman with a de- 
light almost childish regarded the 
money, yet somehow as she considered 
spending it, doubts as to whether her 
work would be detected began to an- 
noy ; hence she awaited impatiently the 
return of Geneva. The girl had hard- 
ly entered the room, when her grand- 
mother nervously said : 

'*Chile, you is mighty late, I'se been 
'xpectin' you fer more dan a hour by 
de clock; 'case I wants you to do a 
favor fer yo' ole mammy whar can't 
read." Producing a ten-dollar bill, 
she shook and held it high in the air 
— for Geneva to be properly impressed 
with the dignity of her request. The 

girl's eye stretched wide with amaze- 
ment; and a broad grin spread over 
her face. 

"I wants ter know how much money 
is dat?" asked Dinah, adding, by way 
of explanation, "I foun' hit while you 
wuz traipsin' de streets." Her con- 
science did not demand that she should 
explain that it was found in the reti- 
cule. Geneva scanned it curiously. 

"It lo<*s all right— but, but— well I 
never saw any like it before, and I be- 
lieve some Dago lost it. I doubt if it is 
any accoimt in this country. If you'll 
strike a light, I can read what is writ- 
ten on it and see." 

Dinah grabbed it away from her; 
for suspense and disappointment -filled 
her with rage impossible to repress. 

"Gib hit back to me," she said, "fer 
you jist neber seed so much money 
befo' in yo' life, you tar-dumplin', you 
lim' uv Satan; you ain't nuthin' but 
a nappy-headed nigger ef you does 
make out you c'n read. I don't b'liebe 
a word uv hit — ^you jis' totes books to 
school fer show !" 

But despite her vituperation, Ge- 
neva's words sank deep into her heart; 
and she 'carefully weighed her criti- 
cism, with the result that she deter- 
mined to experiment with the money 
on some one who could not read. Like 
an inspiration, her eyes wandered to 
the clothes basket, the cpntents of 
which had been scarcely touched. This 
sight suggested to her mind the Chi- 
nese laundryman as the person of all 
others least likely to recognize her 
handiwork. But she must bide her 
time. The Chinese laundryman ! EH- 
nah smiled as she thought of her pos- 
sible victim. It was the prejudice of 
the working class of our country 
against Mongolians. 

Not, however, until Geneva was off 
for school next day did the old woman 
find opportunity for her errand. Then 
she selected from her clothes basket 
several collars and handkerchiefs and 
wrapped them neatly in a piece of 
newspaper. This done, she tucked the 
bundle imder her shawl, put on an old 
poke bonnet that nearly served as a 
mask, and started on her quest of a 

Digitized by 




laundry. Prudence suggested one very 
remote from the district in which she 
dwelt. Trudging along, she mumbled 
aloud ; for the habit of talking to her- 
self was a great relief to her mind. 

"Dat Chinee won't know whut kin' 
er money dis is, 'ca'se he cain't read- 
nobody 'cep'in' white fo'ks an' new 
nig:gers c'n read ; an' ef I does fool a 
Chinee, tain't gwine pester me — I ain't 
eben gwine study 'bout hit, fer let him 
go 'long, an' do a man's work, like 
plowin', an' not be takin' bread an* 
meat out uv my mouf by takin' m 

When a laundry a long way from 
her home had been found, she walked 
boldly in; and the look of contempt 
cast on Sen Lung, as he bent over his 
ironing-board, ought to have been a 
warning — but he did not see it. 

"I want you to wash me dese col- 
lars and han'k'chiefs," she calmly 

"Me no washee fo' niggee," replied 
the Mongolian. 

"You don' know whut you talkin' 
Ijout," retorted Dinah, "I ain't no nig- 
ger, I'se a cullud 'oman ; I iin't eben 
black, but jist gingerbread — ^but you 
looks monstrus lak a mulatto yo' own- 
se'f." Then with an injured air that 
intensified her dignity, Dinah deposited 
her bundle on the counter, while her 
hand sought her pocket and drew forth 
the ten-dollar bill. 

"Dese my white fo'k's clo's," she 
continued, "an' I'se done brought de 
money so dar could be no dispute 'bout 
de price — an' now I lay you gwine be 
glib arter de job." 

Sen Lung's eyes brightened. He 
put down his iron to examine the bun- 
dle, then he glanced at the denomina- 
ticwi of the note, and handed Dinah a 
handful of change, and a red laundry 

Dinah took her departure like pa- 
troKers were behind her. Forgotten 
was her rheumatism — forgotten was 
her misery — forgotten was everything, 
save her desire to escape and buy the 
turkey. Turkey ! Turkey ! The mere 
thought was appetizing. Turkey bast- 
ed brown and stuffed with rich dress- 

ing. Geneva would be proud of her 
grandma's cooking. Dinah would 
show her old people knew a little 
something — something more palatable 
than abstract knowledge — for kitchen- 
art is a high art, thought old Dinah, as 
homeward she sped. The coins jingled 
in her wallet; and Dinah smiled se- 
renely as she muttered: 

"I sho' did conjer dat blab-mouf 
Chinee, yes, dat I did — I rub de rab- 
bit-foot on dat money ; an' now he c'n 
rub de gun-uv-rabbit on dem clo's, 
fer dey tells me dat's whut dey uses." 

In the warm November sunlight, 
Geneva stood on the door-sill^ await- 
ing her grandmother's return ; for the 
old woman had taken the key with her. 
Unlocking the door, she said : 

"Come on in de house, chile. Yo' 
ole mammy neber mean nuthin' by 
whut she say yistidy, 'ceptin' ter lam 
you not to comment on fo'ks' b'long- 
in's dat wuz raise wid de quality. But 
I likes to tes' yo' larnin' to see ef dey 
teaches you right at school. Ef you 
c'n make out what dat say, mebbe 
'stead uv a gold medal, Til gib you 
a tuhky fer Thanksgibin', but you ain't 
to 'vite no Pilgrim Fathers to eat hit, 
'case yo' ole mammy wants to git her 
own stomach full uv real tuhl^ one 
more time 'fore she die." 

Geneva reached out her hand and 
took the red laundry ticket; steal- 
ing meanwhile a glance at her grand- 
mother's face for doubts as to her sani- 
ty were beginning to enter the girl's 

"If this is writing," snapped she, "I 
can't read it ; maybe it's one of the deai 
languages, but it looks more like a 
chicken had stepped in ink and walked 
over the paper." 

"Now, hit do fer a fac'," assented 
Dinah, "an' I sho' is please' dat you 
is got some common sense to back on ;" 
but a smile lit up her dusky counte- 
nance as she added; "But dat ain't 
no chicken track — dat's a tuhky gob- 
bler track dis time uv year." 

And before Geneva could divine her 
meaning, old Dinah was shuffling up 
the street to the green-grocery. When 
she returned laden with not only a 

Digitized by 




young gobbler but a pumpkin and 
mince-meat, the girVs curiosity almost 
equaled her delight. 

'*It's just lovely," she cried, "and 
Fm so glad I'm living! But how on 
earth did you manage it — was that 
money good that you found yester- 

Dinah rested her hands on her wide- 
spreading hips and smiled : ''Dem vit- 
tles am good," was her reply, "so don't 
pester yo' head 'bout money, fer de 
Lawd will pervide. Yo' ole granmam- 
my cain't read — ^but she c*n cook all 
right; an' she c'n make more money 
out uv her washin'uv collars an'hank'- 
chiefs dan dat heathen Qiinaman wid 
de laundry. So 'eat whut is set 'fore 
you, axin' no questions fer conscience 
sake' — is whut de good Book say; 
an' we niggers b'liebe in de trufe uv de 
Scripture de same at de Norf ez down 

"Scripture quoting is in keeping with 
Thanksgiving," declared Geneva, "for 
that was the spirit of the Pilgrim Fath- 

The old negro was busy salting the 
turkey, and paid little attention, so 
that the word "spirit" was the only 
part of Geneva's speech that she com- 

"What's dat you is sayin' 'bout 
sperrits?" asked she. 

"I said *the spirit of the Pilgrim 
Fathers,* " replied the girl. 

"H'esh !" interrupted Dinah. "Quit 
yo' talkin' 'bout de sperrits uv dem ole 
daid fo'ks — fer ha'nts skeers me mos' 
ter deff. I made sho' dat you wuz 
thinkin' lak I is, when I notice how 
fat dat tuhky amt, somehow my min' jist 
natchully hankers arter some sperrits 
to help wash de grease down my th'oat 
— sump'n' lak apple-toddy or a mint- 
julep— -dat 's de sperrits dat makes fo'ks 
cheerful ; dem is de sperrits fer dis ole 
nigger, sho's you bawn." 

And Geneva never suspected her 
grandmother had developed another 
spirit ; the spirit of the counterfeiter, 
for Dinah held to the tenet of not let- 
ting her left hand know what her right 
hand did. 


Evening shades are falling, falling thick at last. 
Creeping o'er the meadow, climbing up the hill ; 

And I hear a plaintive calling, quick and fast. 

Calling from the woodland, where all is dark and still : 

"Whip-poor-will ! Whip-poor-will !" 

Somewhere it is calling, "Whip-poor-will!" 

The nightingale is singing, singing low and sweet. 

Singing to its sweetheart, singing to the stars ; 
While there comes a ringing from where the shadows meet, 

A sad and plaintive ringing, from the pasture bars : 
"Whip-poor-will ! Whip-poor-will !" 
Lonely is its ringing, "Whip-poor-will!" 

Sweetheart, I am yearning, yearning for you, still. 

Longing for your kisses, pure as stars above ; 
While my eyes are burning as with tears they fill. 

Don't you hear me calling for you, love? 
"Whip-poor-will! Whip-poor-will!" 
Waiting for your answer, "Whip-poor-will!" - Will D, Muse, 

Digitized by 



By Waldon Fawcett 

TEA growing in the United 
States is on the threshold of 
a new development that will 
give this interesting industry a wholly 
new importance in the eyes of many 
housewives, particularly those resident 
in the South. This present advance 
contemplates * the growing of tea for 
home consumption in gardens of limit- 
ed area in town or country. Imbued 
with an ambition to follow this new 
trend to its logical conclusion, some of 
the agricultural ex- 
perts in the employ 
of the national 
government have 
lately discovered 
by actual experi- 
m e n t that tea 
leaves may be 
satisfactorily cured 
merely by the use 
of such pieces of 
apparatus as are to 
be found in the or- 
dinary private 

A large propor- 
tion of the south- 
em half of the re- 
public is suited to 
tea growing, the 
climate of the 
Southern and Gulf States in general 
being admirably adapted to the culti- 
vation of the plant. There is preva- 
lent to some extent a belief that the tea 
plant can thrive only in a climate that 
enjoys what might be termed excessive 
rainfall, and some persons have doubted 
the adaotauiiity of certain nortions of 
the South because of the fact that the 
rainfall is considerably less than in the 
famous tea-producing countries of the 
Orient. However, these doubters have 


evidently overlooked the fact that in 
such portions of Dixieland the average 
annual temperature is lower, causing 
less evaporation and consequently re- 
quiring less rainfall. 

It may be said in a general way that 
the cultivation of the tea plant may be 
undertaken with reasonable promise 
of success in any district where the to- 
tal rainfall in a year exceeds fifty 
inches and where at least thirty inches 
of rain falls during the cropping sea- 
son of the tea. 
Of course^ tem- 
perature is also an 
important i n f 1 u- 
ence, but any cli- 
mate where the 
thermometer sel- 
dom registers low- 
er than 24 de- 
grees Fahrenheit 
and never goes be- 
low zero may he 
pronounced suita- 
l3le. A well-drained 
and easily pene- 
trable clay loam 
or sandy loam soil 
is best for the tea 
plants, and this 
form of vegetation 
being of subtropi- 
cal origin, needs as much protection 
from the cold as possible so that it is 
advantageous to select for a tea gar- 
den a site with a southern exposure, 
insuring plenty of sunshine. 

Before proceeding with mention of 
the new phase of tea growing, perhaps 
a word should be said in explanation 
of the failure of a previous undertak- 
ing of similar character in the South. 
Some of our readers may remember 
that several years ago a number of tea 

Digitized by 




gardens, varying in size, were started 
in diflferent parts of the South, but 
most of them were allowed to die 
through lack of interest. A thorough 
investigation as to the cause has dis- 
closed the fact that in almost every in- 
stance the attempt was abandoned be- 
cause the grower who was raising tea 
on a small scale did not understand 
how to pluck and make the leaves into 
tea for drinking. This stumbling- 
block has now been removed, as 
will be pointed out later in the article. 

How auspicious are the 
conditions for tea growing 
under Southern skies is best 
attested by the remarkable 
success that has attended 
the operation of the Pine- 
hurst tea gardens near 
Summerville, South Caro- 
lina, where tea is grown 
commercially, and which 
produce a product that now 
sells in the discriminating 
groceries of the country 
side by side with the best 
importations from the Far 
East. At Pinehurst there 
are about one hundred 
acres planted in tea, and 
this tract yields about 12,- 
000 pounds of dry tea each 
year. One of the gardens 
on this plantation has pro- 
duced as much as 535 
pounds of dried tea to the 
acre during a single season. 

The experience of those 
persons who of late years 
have undertaken home tea 
growing, either on their own initia- 
tive or on behalf of the government, 
indicates that the best plan for plant- 
ing is to put the seed in the ground 
in the autumn or winter just before a 
rain and to sow the seed in a loca- 
tion where it will be protected from 
the prevailing winds by a fence, a 
wind-break or the side of a house. It 
is a decided advantage to erect over 
the newly planted tract a frame hav- 
ing a height of about six feet above 
ground and consisting of boards sup- 
ported in horizontal position on a 

structure of upright poles. The 
scheme, it will be observed, is very 
similar to that of raising tobacco un- 
der shade which has recently come into 
vogue in the South and is also sug- 
gestive of the ixiethod followed in 
growing pineapples in Florida. 

The boards, or perhaps it would be 
better to say the slats, of the shelter for 
a tea seed bed are separated by spaces of 
I 1-2 to 2 inches, thus affording am- 
ple opportunity for the entrance of the 
direct rays of the sun. For the bene- 


fit of the individual who wishes to un- 
dertake tea growing on a very modest 
scale, it may be explained that such a 
protective framework is not necessarily 
expensive. It can be constructed of 
any waste lumber or in the absence of 
other material, a loosely woven wire 
netting covered thinly with straw of 
some kind will answer every purpose. 
It is customary to plant the tea seeds 
in holes not more than one and one- 
half inches in depth, and only one seed 
is placed in each hole. After the plant- 
ing, the surface is raked and the nur- 

Digitized by 




sery bed covered evenly with some 
kind of straw as a protection against 
the cold. Pine straw and needles are 
favorite coverlets. As the plants be- 
gin to shoot above the ground, a lit- 
tle of the straw is removed from time 
to time, but some of the warmth-giv- 
ing shield remains in place until au- 
tumn, when the top of the wooden 
frame is also removed. Many persons 
who make a practice of raising only a 
few tea plants at a time prefer to let 
them get their start in boxes and then 


age of three years, however, they must 
be clipped or pruned down each spring 
by means of knives or pruning shears. 
At the growing number of Southern 
homes where the owners kill two birds 
with one stone by having an ornamen- 
tal hedge of tea plants, the trimming 
is done s3mMnetrically, and the effect is 
decidedly pleasing. 

The harvesting or plucking of the tea 
leaves begins about the first of May 
and ccMitinues until the middle of Oc- 
tober. Only the bud and the first two 
or three leaves on each stem are taken, 
as the other leaves are generally too 
tough to make good tea. The plucking 
is done by pindiing off the stem with 
the thumb and first finger just under 

the last leaf to be plucked. As a rule, 
picking takes place every week or two, 
but the grower whose leaves are tardy 
of development may find a compensa- 
tion in the fact that they are pretty 
certain to be of superior flavor. 

As has been pointed out, the great 
handicap heretofore to the extension 
of the tea industry in the South has 
been the generally prevalent belief that 
technical knowledge was required to 
successfully cure the tea. The Depart- 
ment of Agriculture is now setting out 
to the people of the South 
green and black teas may be 
illy handled by an intelligent 
ing only such utensils as are to 
md in every kitchen. Even 
the use of a thermometer 
is dispensed with, and the 
home tea grower carries on 
the curing of his product 
merely by the aid of the 
senses of touchy smell and 
sight. The total apparatus 
needed for curing tea by 
this t w e n t i e t h-century 
method consists of a four- 
quart double boiler (a 
saucepan with a hot-water 
jacket), a large pan, pref- 
erably agate-lined, a large 
wooden spoon or ladle and 
a kneading board in the 
event that there is not 
available an absolutely 
clean kitchen table. 
The program to be followed in cur- 
ing black tea is to bring the leaves into 
the .house the day before they are to 
be made into tea and spread them thin- 
ly and evenly on a clean table or floor, 
where the process of withering is al- 
lowed to go on for an interval of from 
twelve to twenty- four hours. After 
they have lost about one-half of their 
weight by evaporation and feel like an 
old kid glove, they are ready for roll- 
ing. Half a pound or more of the 
withered leaves are rolled, or kneaded, 
at a time. For ten minutes the roll- 
ing is light, in order that the leaves 
may take on a twist or roll, and then 
follows twenty minutes of increasing 
pressure, until in the end there is ex- 

Digitized by 




erted all the force that can be applied. 
Tight rolling makes a strong tea and 
helps the flavor. 

Following the rolling, the tfa leaves 

wooden frames, and here they remain 
for from two to three hours subjected 
to fierce sunlight. Green tea, which, 
likewise, has many friends among lov- 
ers of the soothing beverage, is made 
from the same class of leaves as the 
black tea, but there are certain radical 
differences in the treatment. 

First of all, the tea leaves, instead 
of being allowed to wither for half a 
day or more and then ferment for a pe- 
riod of from three to six hours, thus 
producing oxidation, are placed, when 
freshly picked, in a covered double 
boiler. One pound of leaves is appor- 
tioned to a four-quart boiler and is al- 
lowed to remain in this sauce-pan, sur- 
rounded by boiling water, for an inter- 
val of from seven to nine minutes. 
This treatment renders the leaves very 
soft and facilitates the rolling, which is 
done after the fashion of the black tea, 


are formed in "balls" and allowed to 
remain for from three to six hours in 
a cool and preferably damp place, 
where they ferment. After fermenta- 
tion, the balls are broken up and the 
tea spread about half an inch thick in 
a large clean agate pan, which is placed 
in the oven of the kitchen stove, be- 
ing removed from time to time and 
the tea turned. This drying continues 
until the leaves are very brittle to the 
touch and give off a slight odor, when 
the tea is ready for use and may be 
stored in tin boxes or cans that are 

The sun-cured black tea, which is 
highly esteemed by many tea-drinkers, 
is obtained by the process just de- 
scribed, but with a modification, in 
that the withering is done in the sun, 
preferably in July or August. In dry- 
ing leaves in the sun, they are spread 
upon trays made by tacking cloth on 


but for a slightly shorter space of time. 
Finally, as in the case of the black tea. 
the leaves are dried in an oven until 
they are thoroughly brittle. 

Digitized by 



By Louise McHenry 

THE building had been con- 
structed to meet the needs of 
the suburban settlement, and 
had successively accommo- 
dated its interior to grocery, barber 
and saloon purposes. But finally chil- 
dren's g'lad voices in their singing and 
playing had become a wholesome sub- 
stitute for drunken brawls, and the 
Free Kindergarten was an acknowl- 
edged power in the community. 

The road that lay in front of the lit- 
tle building was oft traveled, for it 
led from the city to the cemetery. 
There it terminated among towering 
evergreens, whose branches made aeo- 
lian strings for the never-ending re- 
quiem. The years brought denser foli- 
age, and the shadows beneath became 
more broken by the multiplying 
mounds, but the harmony overhead in- 
creased in minor grandeur. 

In the rear of the building flowed a 
river, muddy and malarial. But it lost 
its small identity at last, to find a larg- 
er wholeness in its absorption by the 
majestic ocean, mud and malaria all 

Between the two an ever-varying, 
shifting quantity, humanity, that for a 
day moved with the restlessness of the 
river, and on the morrow found the 
calm of the broken shadows and wind- 
sung harmony. 

Within the building, at one of the 
small tables, sat a sweet-faced girl 
overlooking the day's work of the lit- 
tle fingers. A restless, gaunt woman 
moved about, straightening chairs and 
awaiting the completion of the task 
and the time for "shutting up." 

Suddenly she stopped before one of 
the windows. 

*'Law, law, ef there hain't ernother 
one er them things er creepin' hits 
length erlong this road, like er ugly 

ole black snake ! Three funVel perces- 
shuns already this day ! I git so tired 
er lookin' at 'em I don't know whut ter 
do. Hit duz seem like there hain't 
nothin' but trouble en death in this 
worl' nohow." 

The young teacher looked up from 
her work with an expression of sur- 

"Well, Mrs. Qiitterton, who would 
ever have thought to hear you talking 
so ? I shall have to prescribe your own 
remedy, *just prick up your ears, and 
trot along and all will come right.' 
But, really," and her voice became 
sympathetic, "what is the matter with 
you, Mrs. Chitterton?" 

"Matter with me? Matter ernuff, 
I kin tell you. Hit's been work, work, 
work sense the day I wuz born. I 
reckin there hain't nobody works ez 
hard ez I duz en has ez little. Hit jes' 
don't seem right. I wisht you'd look 
at me! Blisters on my ban's, no 
shoes on my feet, no decent dress ter 
my back, en whut's more, no teeth in 
my head. Here's my mouth all sunk in 
en puckered up, looks like I'd been 
eatin' persimmons out er season ; en if 
I had anything seasonable I couldn't 
eat hit, fur I hain't got nothin' ter 
chaw with. En me wunst er purty 
woman ! You know yourself how pur- 
ty that picter er me is that's er-hangin' 
up in my house." 

Here she gave a subdued chuckle. 

"Well, that's one thing, thank the 
Lord, I cheated the rent man, groc'ry 
man, doctor man en my gals outer." 

The satisfaction found in the remem- 
brance made her face glow with pleas- 

"When the gen'lm'n come ter my 
door, showin' me the great big, purty 
picters he wuz carryin' erround, sez I, 
jes' ter myself, mind you, I'm er goin' 

Digitized by 




ter git one er me shore, en I did. En 
I'll tell you now whut else Fm er-goin' 
ter git. Fm er-goin' ter git me er set 
er false teeth. Oh, you needn't look 
surprised ! They won't cost no more'n 
that picture did, en ef I done hit wimst, 
I kin do hit ergin. I tell you I need 
'em bad. Now, Miss 'Lizabeth, honest, 
don't you think I oughter buy me er 

"Of course I do, if you want them. 
You know I believe a woman ought 
to look just as pretty as she can. Why 
don't you make that son-in-law pay 
the rent, and Lottie Lee wear her old 
clothes until you can save money 
enough to get them ?" 

"Don't talk ter me erbout Jack. 
He's good ernuff ter look at, but he 
hain't whut he oughter be, en more'n 
the Lord knows that! He's one er 
them fiddlin' kind er fellers that loves 
ter go callaruppin' erround town, fur- 
gittin' he's got er wife en baby. I ast 
Ma'y when she wanted ter marry 
him, why she would take the fust fel- 
ler that come erlong. En she 'lowed 
if he suited, 'twarn't no use waitin'. 
I knowed she wam't actin' with 
the sense she had er right ter be bom 
with, but take him she would, fur bet- 
ter er fur wuss, en hit shorely hez 
proved fur wuss. Ma'y's a purty gal 
herself, hain't onlike me when I wuz 
young. She'd he'p me ef she could, 
but she's done set herself down ez cr 
mammy, en me ez er gran'-mammy, 
when we both'd be better off at sum- 
p'n else, I kin tell you. But I don't 
keer, I've done made up my mind 
whut I'm er-goin' ter do in spite uv 
hit all. I hain't er goin' ter take no 
more money frum you, until you owe 
me ernuff ter git them teeth. I kin 
trus' you, en I hain't er-goin' ter tell 
nobody erbout hit. 

"But — I wuz er-talkin' ter Miz Sim- 
mons las' night, en she's done promis't 
ter go with me ef she's able. Some- 
how I feel kinder skeery erbout goin' 
ter one er them places by myself." 

"I thought you said you were not 
going to tell any body." 

"Well, pore ole Miz Simmons don't 
count. Hit's jes' my own folks I 

wanter keep outer my secrit. Ef they 
don't know I'm er-savin' money, how 
kin they git hit outer me? But ef I 
had them teeth they'd hearten me up 
mightily. En I kin tell you, ef hit 
'twarn't fur this McKinley-garden, 
I don't know whut I'd do." 

She paused for breath and reflec- 
tion, and then her tcme grew reproach- 

"I reckin, ter add ter all my other 
troubles, the fust thing I know, you'll 
be marryin' en shuttin' up this place 
fur good?" 

"Don't you worry about that. I 
promise you that you shall dream on 
some of my wedding cake and eat all 
you want of my wedding supper, if 
you don't marry before I do! Isn't 
that a fair bargain ?" 

"*Don't talk erbout me er marryin'. 
No danger er that. I'll tell you right 
now, you're better off like you are. 
Ef I'd knowed all I know now, there 
hain't nothin' on this earth would er 
made me marry at fust. But some- 
times I do think when you wunst be- 
gin there hain't no use ter stop. 

"En the truth is, I do most wisht 
sometimes now I wuz marri'd ter a 
pusson that could keep me good 

"After what you say, I should think 
you would be afraid to risk it again !" 
"Hit does look that erway, but 
there's resks erbout ev'rything you do. 
I look at hit this erway. The fust 
time I marri'd, I marri'd fur love, but 
'twarn't no time till the love wuz gone 
en then there wuz the man. But at 
las' he went, too; en then, the secon' 
time I marri'd, I marri'd to better my 
lot. The man had er waggin' en team, 
but law, the fust thing you knowed, 
them bosses laid down en died, en 
there wuz the man ergin. 

"Some ways I look at hit, the Lord's 
been good ter me. If I should turn 
sech er fool es to part with my librity 
ergin, en marry the third time, hit'll 
be fur comp'ny, I kin tell you. I do 
git mighty lonesome. I go uv evenin's 
ter preachin', en they have mighty 
purty sermons out here, but sense I 
wore myself out so constan' 'nussin' 

Digitized by 




my las' ole man, hit seems like I 
hain't never tuck ter the house sense. 
I have er feelin like I wanter be trav- 

"Now, ef I had them teeth, I know 
I'd be more contint. How kin you 
expect anybody ter feel well, livin' on 
cabbage en mush! Law, law, I've 
done et emuff cabbage ter stock er 
cabbage patch. The truth is, I've jest 
wore myself out on cabbage. En 
mush — well, I have hit sometimes, jest 
fur er change." 

''How about fruit? Can't you eat 

"Fruit? Law me, no! Apples is 
too hard. Oranges I never git my 
ban's on, let alone my jaws; en figs, 
they're orful; I've tried em. Hit 
looks like the more I chaw on 'em, the 
bigger they g^t en the fuller my 
mouth. But there's one kind — ^per- 
nanners! They jest melt in my 
mouth ; en ice-cream ! 

"But whut's the use er talkin' er 
them things, when I hain't able even 
ter buy grease emuff ter turn er 
pan-cake. Now, you know I need 
them teeth, so don't you bring me no 
more money 'till I'm ready ter git 

So it was agreed. The weeks sped 
by, and the money for the services of 
the janitress accumulated until the 
teeth could almost be seen a gleaming 
reality in her sunken jaws. 

One morning a cheery "good morn- 
ing" from the Kindergartner brought 
from Mrs. Chitterton no answering 
salutation, but her face became trans- 
fixed by an expression of solemn awe. 

"Law, Miss 'Lizabeth, my little 
gran'baby's done left us. The ma- 
lary he inherited frum that river taken 
right hold er him en he went out in a 
minit, hit looks like. We're in er heap 
er trouble down ter my house. Jack 
sez he's goin' to quit his fiddlin' en go 
ter work. Ma'y, she's mos' broken- 
hearted, pore young thing; Lottie 
Lee's done cried her eyes out nearly, 
en the Uttle baby, hit's er layin' there 
jcs' er waitin' to be put erway. We do 
want ter put hit erway purty. So I've 
come ter ast you fur the money; I 

reckin' the Lord knows better'n me en 
maybe I don't need them teeth like I 
thought I did. Hit duz seem hard, 
though, ter lose whut I've done paid 
already fur meas'rin' my mouth." 

As the bills were handed to her, 
and the look of eagerness was changed 
to one of hopeless disappointment, the 
thought flashed in upon Miss Eliza- 
beth that in meeting the Philistine 
host of care, want, drudgery, and un- 
fulfilled desires, perhaps, she mi^t 
find in the false teeth the strength 
that lurked for Samson in the jaw- 
bone of the ass. 

The funeral over, she returned to 
her work a person of subdued conse- 
quence. Crepe upon a door-knob, and 
a hearse before a doorway, for a time, 
set the in-dwellers thereof apart from 
other men. They dignify the lowest 
hovel, spreading abroad the news that 
the strangest incident that comes into 
all lives, has lost its strangeness for 
one. The floating folds of crepe, 
be they white or black, mockingly 
taunt the living with their ignorance, 
for in them is symbolized the wisdom 
of the dead. 

During the spring overflow of the 
river Mrs. Chitterton failed to come 
to her work, but her daughter brought 
news of her serious illness, so a few 
days later Miss Elizabeth took the bv 
street leading to her home. When she 
entered the bare but tidy room, a little 
crumpled figure lay in the bed before 

'*Law, now. Miss 'Lizabeth, is that 
you? I've been er-lookin' fur you, vn 
hit seemed like you never wuz er- 

"Yes'm, I'm mighty sick — pneu- 
mony er the lungs, the doctor sez. 
You see, I got out er wood en coal, en 
the river wuz floatin' down so much 
purty drift wood I went ter git my 
share. Whut with ketchin' uv hit, en 
totin' uv hit up, en my shoes er-leakin' 
I caught more'n I bargained fur. The 
doctor sez I may not pull through, but 
hit don't make no diff 'unce, I reckin. I 
did hate ter be sick right now. Pore 
ole Miz Simmons nex' door is done 
dead uv her cancer. They do say she 

Digitized by 




died orful hard. I'd planned ter help 
lay her out en go ter the funVel, but I 
wuz too busy with my own sickness. 

**Eh law, Mr. Simmons*ll have er 
lonesome time uv hit, pore ole soul! 
I know whut hit is ter be \eV by your- 

'*And that's just what you've done 
to me. I've had a dreadful time with- 
out you, getting some one to do your 
work to suit me. I don't believe I'll 
ever find anybody that can exactly fill 
your place, so you must hurry and get 
well. I have thought of you a great 
deal since you have been sick, and 
wondered if you are still planning to 
get those teeth you used to talk 

"Law, no ; I reckin the Lord never 
meant fur me ter have 'em. I have mos' 
come ter b'leeve He's done sent this 
extry trouble on me fur bein' so 'vain- 
glorious, en er layin' ter git 'em. No, 
no, my days is done numbered, en 
I'll go ter my grave without them 
teeth. But the Lord knows His way 
warn't natcherlly mine, en er many er 
time I've had ter fill my mouth with 
pray'r ter keep f'um missin' 'em." 

"But, Mrs. Chitterton, suppose 
somebody should come and offer to 
buy them for you ; what would you 

"Jes* lis'n at the chile puttin' tempta- 
tion in the thoughts uv er pore weak 
creatur' ! This here mis'ry in my side 
keeps er remindin' me not to be ca'i'd 
erway with the vanity uv the worl', 
en I don't reckin' hit would be becom- 
in' in me ter say that I would take 

**Well, according to my way of 
thinking you would be very foolish if 
you did not. That 'misery in your 
side* has to do with your lungs and 
not your teeth, or your conscience 

So saying. Miss Elizabeth placed a 
package in the sick woman's hands. 
She trembled with excitement as she 
opened it, and the gleaming false set 
fell out, but the warmth of her hand- 
grasp proved the sincerity of her joy. 

"You'll see, they'll do more fur 
me than all the physic the doctor's 

been pourin' down me, fur now I've 
got ter git well ter wear 'em." 

And in truth, the speediness of her 
recovery seemed almost miraculous. 
She returned to her work, however, 
with no change in her appearance. 

**Mrs. Chitterton, what in the world 
have you done with your teeth?" 

"Done with my teeth? Wropt' em 
up in tishy paper, en locked 'em up 
in my top burey drawer — put erway 
fur Sunday en dress up. You never 
'spected me ter wear them teeth ev'ry 
day, did you ? You don't ketch me er- 
doin' that. I'm er goin' ter take good 
keer of 'em, so they'll las' me er 
long time. They's nobody ter give me 
no more when them are wore out, en 
nobody knows that better'n me." 

No protestations could make her al- 
ter her decision, so the Kindergarten 
closed the spring term without her 
ever having appeared on dress parade. 

Upon the reopening in the fall, Miss 
Elizabeth, seeking the services of her 
old janitress, knocked in vain at the 
door of her former residence. At 
length the barking of a dog in the next 
yard caused an inquiring figure to 
appear from within that cottage. The 
face was round and jolly, and upon 
seeing the visitor, a double row of 
teeth became suddenly conspicuous. 

"Do you know what has become of 
Mrs. Chitterton?" asked the young 

"Mrs. Chitterton?" and the smile 
gained breadth. "Whut! that ole 
sunken-jawed woman that useter live 
over there ? Why, she's done lef ' these 
parts no longer ergo than yistiddy, but 
she ast me, Miz Simmons," and there 
was a twinkle in her eye and a con- 
fidential tone in her voice, "that's who 
I am, ter tend ter all her biz'ness fur 
her. Have you got er message fur 

Then a joyous laugh rang out. 

"Law, Miss 'Lizabeth,I don't b'leeve 
you knowed me; now, did you? 
Didn't I tell you there'd be more 
physic fur me in them teeth than all 
the doctor's medicine ? Jes' come right 
in. Hit shorely does my eyes good ter 
ketch sight er you ergin." 

Digitized by 




Laugh and the World Laughs With You 



A Joker of note in his prime, 
Wrote a sally and cried, **0h, sub- 
So great was his pride, 
That he laughed till he died, 
A tnctim himself of his crime! 

* « 

It was August. 

He had taken her to the beach. 

He had spent half his week's salary 
on her. (He was going the spend the 
other half before he got back.) 

They spoke of eyes. 

His were brown, and he was gazing 
with them very lovingly at her A^hen 
she said she preferred blue eyes to all 

"Blue eyes indicate deceit," he de- 

She looked out at the wild waves. 

"No deceit there," she replied. 

( Wasn't nice of her, was it?) 

They spoke of hair. 

He let his chubby hand lie on the 
water an instant, and then threw some 
of the green spray over his head — 
playfully, harmlessly, as it were. 

She said brown hair looked awful 
when wet, anyway. 

"But, my dear," he observed, hasti- 
ly adjusting his poor bedraggled curls, 
smoothing 'em down as if to take some 
of the despised color out, "scientists, 
you know, say that dark hair is a sign 
of strength." 

'*And are you strong?" she asked. 

{Wasn't nice of her, was it?) 

The); spoke of statuary. 

Near the Pavilion they passed a 

:By Walter Pulitzer: 

huge wooden figure bearing the in- 
scription, ** Neptune." 

"Ah, what noble proportions!" she 
cried, casting glances of comparison at 
her escort. 

( Wasn't nice of her, was it?) 

She made a short cut from statue 
to stature. 

She spoke of the dignity and state- 
liness of "a tall, lithe man." 

He groaned inwardly as a picture of 
himself, toying with dumb-bells every 
morning at 6 a.m., came to his mind. 

'*Napoleon was my height my dear/' 
he said meekly. 

"Napoleon ? I never heard of him." 
she said. "Some museum freak, I sup- 

(Wasn't nice of her, was it?) 

Nevertheless, after the campaign of 
pink lemonade, merry-go-rounds, loop 
the loops, mazes and the rest — what do 
you suppose? Why, this poor male 
creature of faults suddenly turned 
round and asked the Peerless One to 
share them (the faults) with him. 
(These Spiteful Things are usually the 
kind that win our hearts!) 

And she just said, "Yes," and took 
him, faults and all. 

Which proves that: 
A woman says, "Give me the Ideal!'' 
WTien she's glad to accept the Real ! 
* * 

"Why do you call Miss Footlighte 
a color artiste?" 

"Because she paints, of course." 
''Oh, but that's an old joke." 
"Well, she draws, too." 
''Draws what?" 
"Her salary!" 

Digitized by 



NEVER SAY DIE^— T '*But they were never produced," 

^ , . J . . broke in the trembling^ ex-Worldite. 

For chirodopists we rec- .Qh, that's different," said St. Pe- 

ommendadietof..... Corn ^^^ ''You may enter." 

For car conductors Jam 

For printers Pi * * 

For autoists Mincemeat cnniM FOPru^T 

For hen-pecked husbands Ginger SO SOON FORGOT 

For after-dinner speakers Taffy she (as ifrecollecting)— Letme see. 

For insurance presidents Dough Haven't I met you before somewhere? 

« * He — I should think you had. I'm 

the man you were engaged to back in 


First Boarder — Well, how did you 

find the Thanksgiving turkey ? AH ! 

Second Boarder — I can't say I found 

it much improved since last Sunday. "Have you ever heard the Declara- 
tion of Independence ?" 

* * "I have." 
IN CHICAGO "Where?" 

"In the divorce courts !" 
"Is he an American? 

"No; a BostonianI" * * 


WILLING TO STAND A GOOD Some have their fortunes told by 

DEAL cards— others have it taken from 

Winifred— But I think I ought to ^^^ , . , . 

tell you that my eldest brother is a , The only time gas seems cheap is 

New York Senator. ^"[i"^ ^ P^l'V""^^ campaign. 

Bertram-^o matter, pet. Even that ", "^^Tu ".i^^"^ how much worse 

shall not separate us! we could be they would love us more, 

*^ Don t hitch your wagon to a — ^bar. 

* * It would appear that the stork has 
EXPENSES "^^ y^^ exactly succeeded in getting 

into New York society. 

First Motorist — Do you find a tour- How much more comfortably one 

ing car a great expense ? can discuss the evils of poverty on a 

Second Motorist — ^Do you refer to full stomach! 

the consumption of gasoline or the On the Road of Love a kiss is al- 

fines ? ways the shortest way round. 


o ^ . , , , AUTUMN SONG 
St. Peter wondered why the weary 

joumeyer carried such a bundle of The bathing suit has had its day — 

manuscripts under his arms. It's knell is sounded. « 

"Before you enter the gates," said We mourn its subtile, fatal sway 

he, "you must tell me what all these In terms unbounded, 

papers are." But presently, when back in town 

"They are librettos of musical come- From our vacation, 

dies I wrote while on Earth," was the We'll have its mate, the opera gown, 

answer. As consolation! 

St. Peter shook his head gravely. The bathing suit has had its day, 

"Fm afraid I can't let — " Yet the world continues decollette. 

Digitized by 



By Robert L. Taylor 


Referring casually to music, there has 
been a surplus of the chin kind in the 
United States Senate for many years. Chin 
musicians are so comnion as to excite no 
remarks, save those they make themselves. 
Wherefore, when an opportunity for some 
other kind of music comes to hand, for we 
all love harmony, and get very little of it 
in these days of plot and counterplot 

The other kind of a musician who has 
seeped into the Senate is "Fiddling Bob" 
Taylor, of Tennessee. He makes no pre- 
tense of virtuosity, but he can play The 
Arkansas Traveler and Turkey in the 
Straw; and right here is the proper place 
to insist that if he will play one or the 
other, or both, sometime, when certain of 
his fellow- Senators are moved to make a 
speech, he will confer a priceless boon on 
a talk-submerged Republic. 

"Fiddling Bob" succeeds the brilliant 
Carmack, who went out last March in a 
welter of words that wrecked the ship 
subsidy bill. Just why a fiddler and story- 
teller should have been sent by Tennessee 
to replace Carmack is a question that Ten- 
nessee alone can answer, and Tennessee 
appears to be well satisfied with the job, 
with no explanatory answer to make. 


The new Senator comes from a family 
that is versatile in politics, even for Ten- 
nessee, where the desire to hold ofiice 
comes with the first tooth, and does not 
leave with the last one. The Taylor fami- 

ly went early into politics, and stayed 
there long. Such little technicalities as 
party lines never bothered them. They 
desired the emoluments. The father Tay- 
lor, Nathaniel by name, was in the House 
of Representatives at various times, each 
time as a representative of a different party 
or faction. He early learned the sound 
sense of that well-known maxim: "Sweet 
is the usufruct of versatility"; and when 
the boys grew up, Alf, who is "Fiddling 
Bob's" brother, was assigned to the Re- 
publican party and Bob was made a Demo- 
crat, while Jim was a general utility man. 
It was as complete an organization to catch 
them coming and going as the country 

Alf seemed to have the better part of 
this for a time, because the Republican 
majority in the First Tennessee District 
comprises about all the votes cast. He 
went to Congress three times, but one year 
the Republicans had a row and "Fiddling 
Bob" was sent to the House as a Demo- 
crat. Alfs advantage was more apparent 
than real — which is a fine, old, crusted, 
statesmanlike phrase — for when the boys 
reached out for bigger things "Fiddling 
Bob" gathered the persimmons. 

The Taylor family thought it would be 
well to have a governor in the family. 
Following their invariable rule of proced- 
ure, they cinched things for the Taylor 
family. There was no chance to lose, for 
Bob took the Democratic nomination and 
Alf took the Republican nomination. Bob 
won. He was elected a second time and, 
after a rest, went in for the third time, 

Digitized by 




while Alf has tried vainly for office ever 
since. You see, the Republicans in Ten- 
nessee are quite congested. There are a lot 
of them in the eastern part of the state, 
and they are so scarce in the rest of the 
territory that they really do not count, nor 
are they usually counted. 

All was not honey and roses for Bob, 
however. He tried twice to get elected to 
the Senate. Then he retired from politics. 
When he turned the office of Governor 
over to Benton McMillin, he said: "Poli- 
tics is a vulture that is feeding on my 
vitals. I am through. I am going back to 
the sun-kissed mountains of East Tennes- 
see, where I can rest on my back in the 
fragrant grass and reach up and tickle the 
toes of the angels." 

That was mere rhetoric. Bob didn't 
tickle the toes of a single angel. Instead, 
he went on the lecture platform, together 
with his fierce political opponent, his 
brother Alf, and made much money. Then 
he started a magazine. All this time the 
old, inbred Taylor desire was working. 
He needed an office to be completely hap- 
py, and he decided to run for the Senate 
against Carmack. 

Carmack is red-haired. He is also a 
handy man in debate. Bob didn't think 
of that at first, and when he made his first 
public announcement he said, in off-hand 
way, that if Ed Carmack came on the 
stump with him it would rain red hair in 
Tennessee for three days. Carmack im- 
mediately replied that he was quite willing 
to contribute the hair for this remarkable 
hirsute shower if Taylor would undertake 
to make the rain. He tried to get on the 
stump with Taylor, offering his glistening 
poll as a sacrifice; but, when Carmack got 
to where Taylor was, Taylor wasn't there. 

Tennessee has veered toward the water- 
wagon for some years. There are saloons 
in but four towns in the state now. Car- 
mack charged the saloon men with trying 
to beat him. He knew which way the wind 
blew across the mint patches. This 
aroused much indignation, but it didn't 
help Carmack any; for, next day, Taylor 
said he had been a friend of prohibition for 
years and years. The ancient Taylor fe- 
tish worked. He was elected. 

They called Taylor "The Knight of the 
White Rose," over in East Tennessee. 
Carmack said one day that he should be 
called "The Knight of the White Feather." 
Taylor wasn't miffed a bit. He opened 
his next speech with a reference to Henry 
of Navarre, and all his followers stuck 
white chicken-feathers in their hats. The 
Carmack men wore red feathers and red 
roses, and it was the old case of Lancaster 
over York again. 


Taylor is as versatile as his family. He 
can make a speech to a Grand Army meet- 

ing that will start the boys in blue to sing- 
ing Marching Through Georgia and stump- 
ing around the hall, and, on the same af- 
ternoon, if it is necessary, he can refer 
so tenderly to the Lost Cause that those 
at the Confederate reunion weep so copi- 
ously they don't have to sprinkle the streets 
for a week. In politics he holds, with 
Lean Jimmy Jones, of Tennessee, that if 
the tariff is too high, lower it; and if it's 
too low, h'ist it. 

Taylor is a remarkable story-teller and 
a talker who can make an audience laugh 
or cry. He was a great favorite on the 
lecture platform. He shines in a small com- 
pany, and can spin yarns for an hour or a 
week or a month, all of them about the 
South. He will fill a long-felt want in 
the Senate cloak-rooms, for, now that Joe 
Blackburn has gone, there are few story- 
tellers left. And Taylor has this advan- 
tage: His stories end somewhere. 

"Fiddling Bob" will not set fire to the 
Ephesian dome, nor to any other dome — 
there being two, one on the Capitol and 
one on the Library — but he will probably 
inject a spice of humor into the Senate, 
and they need humor up there mightily. 
He loves to pose as a simple, kindly soul, 
but do not mark him on that basis. He 
knows what he is doing every minute of 
the day. His story-telling and fiddling get 
him things he might not be able to get any 
other way. 

When he came to Washington, last 
March, to watch Congress close, he stayed 
at the Raleigh Hotel. A number of cor- 
respondents of Tennessee papers went up 
to see him on the morning of March 5. 
Bob was just waking up. As the corre- 
spondents came in, Bob asked one of them 
to send downstairs and get a "niggah" for 

The bellboy came: "Rastus," said Bob 
— "Rastus, fetch me a gourd o' water and 
take my boots out an' taller 'em up. I 
ain't feelin' like goin' plumb down to the 

Of course, the simple, kindly representa- 
tive of the Taylor family didn't know that 
would be telegraphed back to Tennessee, 
where it would make a hit with the farm- 

Of course not ! 

[We publish the above tribute from 
the Saturday Evening Post, and feel it 
our duty to reciprocate the honor thus 
paid one of the editors of this maga- 
zine by no less a celebrity than George 
Horace Lorimer.] 

George Horace Lorimer, one of the 
most unique characters in the modern 
literary world, was bom in Louisville, 
Kentucky, some time during the nine- 

Digitized by 




teenth century. He first opened his 
eyes to the light of day in a gorgeous 
palace^ was fed with a silver spoon 
and rocked in an onyx cradle with 
golden rockers. He was swaddled in 
purple and fine linen, and his safety 
pins were set with rubies. He was 
dandled on the knees of a score of 
black mammies, who by turns enter- 
tained the dimpled cherub in his wak- 
ing hours and soothed him into the 
fairyland of dreams with their old- 
time lullabies. Even in his early baby- 
hood no less than a half-dozen profess- 
ors attended the royal nursery to su- 
perintend his education. In the run of 
the years he graduated at Yale, Ox- 
ford and Heidelberg, and subsequently 
took special courses in psychology, 
palmistry and poker. He was per- 
mitted to remain in Louisville just long 
enough to grasp the idea of Kentucky 
politics and to become an epicure in 
the realm of .mint- juleps, and was then 
hurried away to Pennsylvania that he 
might escaf)e the jealousy of Henry 
Watterson and the sweet allurements 
of the mint-bed; and besides, the 
South was too small and too far be- 
hind the car of prc^ess to hold him 
within its borders; its intellectual 
firmament was not high enough or 
broad enough when the time should 
come for him to spread his wings, and 
so he was borne away to Philadelphia. 
But when the time came for him to 
unleash his intellectual powers there 
were no lions and tigers in the jungle 
fierce enough to engage and amuse his 
royal ambition. His family despaired 
of finding for him in mortal affairs a 
niche commensurate with his lofty at- 
tainments. Unhappily for America, it 
is bereft of a nobility and nothing of- 
fered in that line. His family went to 
Washington and examined the presi- 
dential chair, only to discover that it 
was too small for him. The profes- 
sions were scorned ; he would not stoop 
to the Supreme Bench. 

But one day his noble father, while 
rummaging in a second-hand furni- 
ture establishment, found the old chair 
in which the great philosopher, Benja- 
min Franklin, sat and the whole Lori- 

mer family shouted "Eureka!*' And 
they scooped it out a little to make it 
hold George Horace and give him el- 
bow room. There he sits to-day pour- 
ing out his wit and wisdom like mo- 
lasses from the bung-hole of a barrel ; 
there he sits, his throbbing brain 
luminous with thoughts that flash 
through the columns of the Saturday 
Evening Post like the vivid lightnings 
that chased each other down the kite 
strings of his immortal predecessor, 
graciously permitting Poor Richard's 
prestige occasional prominence. Edu- 
cated • away above the earth, what 
wonder that his regal spirit scorns the 
common herd and laughs at tallowed 
boots and the gourd at the spring! 
Surrounded by the State House build- 
ers at Harrisburg, the wealthy politi- 
cal grafters of Philadelphia and the glit- 
ter of gilded gayety in Pittsburg, what 
wonder that he disdains the plebeian 
caravan of Tennessee and wonders why 
they elected a fiddler to the United 
States Senate! No drop of vulgar 
sweat has ever stained the inmiaculate 
linen of a Lorimer, and therefore 
George Horace curls his lips with con- 
tempt for a Tennessean who "seeped" 
into Congress through much perspira- 
tion. One may imagine how easily a 
man standing on the lofty peak from 
which George Horace views the planet 
judges his fellowmen and denies them 
the privilege of setting the domes of 
Capitols and libraries afire. It is one 
of the curiosities of the cult to which 
George Horace belongs — the cult 
which furnishes the virtuous regulators 
of political morals and tastes — that it 
can fawn upon its own perfection in 
the mirror of its own ineffable conceit 
and deal out to the struggling South 
unmeasured chunks of wisdom and 
moral advice from its tripod in the 
shadow of the Pennsylvania State 
House, that stupendous monument of 
graft and robbery which cost four mil- 
lion dollars to build and nine million 
dollars to decorate and trim, and in the 
very center of the great Quaker city 
in which eighty thousand fraudulent 
votes were unearthed at one election. 

Digitized by 




I say it is one of the curiosities of this 
cult that it believes that there is neither 
brain power nor real nobility of soul 
remaining in the land of monuments 
and memories since George Horace left 
it. Tennesseans meekly bow to the 
lash and confess their ignorance of 
such a standard of enlightenment re- 
garding the stupidity that inspires them 
to choose their servants from a class 
that does not wear side-whiskers and 
patent-leather shoes, together with the 
collar of such institutions as the Penn- 
sylvania Railroad and the State House 

Old Time, monarch of the ages, is 
slowly but surely digging the g^ve of 
the universe. His tremendous forces of 

destruction are slowly working changes 
in the physics of the spheres that point 
to universal death ; star after star has 
disappeared from the heavens within 
the memory of ephemeral man; the 
vast planetary spaces are filled with the 
dust of disintegrating worlds ; the in- 
numerable suns that powder the skies 
of night are dying and the planets 
themselves are cooling into the chill of 
death. The hour must come when the 
measureless depths now so glorious 
with light, so tranquil with law and 
cosmic order, must feel the shock of 
an awful cataclysm which will end in 
the wreck of matter and the crush of 
worlds, but welcome the cataclysm if it 
will only leave us George Horace! 




No greater honor was ever conferred 
upon me than that which turns me 
loose, like Byron's watch-dog, to greet 
these Texas-Tennesseans and bay 
deep-mouthed welcome as they draw 
near home, and to say to them that 
the eyes of two millions of their kith 
and kin mark their ccMning and look 
brighter when they come. Could I but 
speak as Byron wrote, or weave the 
sentiments of the human heart into the 
soft witchery of words as none but 
Burns could weave them, I could not 
even then impart the pleasure that 
heaves the bosom of the mother state 

It is a glorious day for Tennesse- 
ans, and here in the shadow of our 
proud old Capitol I come to break the 
news to you that anxious hearts are 
waiting everywhere, and eager lips 
are calling from the hills and 
hollows: "Come back to the val- 
ley and the glen, boys, come back 
to the old folks at home." But 
I cannot conceal the impulse to 
tell you that it is in my heart to re- 
proach you that you ever left your na- 
tive hills, for not since Satan leaped 
from glory — not since Adam fell from 

grace — ^has man or angel lost so much 
as when a Tennessean leaves Tennes- 
see. I would not for all the wealth of 
Dixie wound the pride of Texas or 
pluck a star from her crown of glory, 
but rather let me rejoice with you that 
she sits upon the throne as the Empire 
State of the Union. And yet I can- 
not repress the inclination to remind 
you that if Texas is the greatest, Ten- 
nessee is the fairest, the loveliest and 
the most beautiful — fairest when sum- 
mer sows her fields with myriad colors 
and fills the air with wings ; loveliest 
when autumn draws the misty veil of 
Indian summer and turns the forest 
into a dream ; most beautiful 

When Winter comes with silent tread 
And on his heart lays Autumn's head, 
And on her heart his jeweled hand, 
And stills that heart forever. 

Texas has the broadest landscapes, 
but Tennessee has the highest moun- 
tains; Texas has the most sunshine, 
but Tennessee has the most moon- 
shine; Texas soil is deeper, but there 
is a quality in the soil of Tennessee 
that sweetens the hog and ^ums the 
hominy into honey. There is some- 

Digitized by 




thing in her air that makes men strong 
and vigorous and turns the women's 
lips into cherries and their cheeks into 
roses. But above all other considera- 
tions, it is the land of your nativity ; 
it is the land where you romped and 
frolicked in the ecstasy of life's happy 
morning; it is the land where you 
learned your first lessons and received 
the first inspirations of hope, and 
where you held your sweetheart's hand 
in yours down in the shady lane: 

Where you stopped to gather chestnuts 
On the longest route to school, 

Where you used to play Mazeppa 
On the lank and lazy mule; 

Where you slipped away a-fishin' 
For the gay and festive trout : 

Where you broke the holy Sabbath 
And your mother wore you out. 

It was here that your fancy first took 
wing and made its first flight in the 
realm of dreams ; it was here that the 
impressionable boy heard the first call 
of glory and you knelt before nature's 
majesty to receive her royal stroke of 
knighthood ; it was here that you spent 
the joyous days of your youth. Oh, 
how sweet are the memories of youth 1 

But its pleasures are like poppies 

You seize the flower — ^its bloom is 

Or like the snowfall on the river, 
A moment white, then melts forever. 

Long years have intervened and the 
hopes of youth have melted into a mist 
of memories, and you have returned to 
the shrine from whence you started in 
pursuit of your dreams, to follow once 
again the paths your childish feet have 
trodden a thousand times before; to 
drink from the springs that cooled 
your thirst before you ever dreamed 
of a windmill ; to look once more upon 
the green fields and bright streams 
around the old homestead where you 
were bom and raised, and to sit at the 
hearthstone that once glowed with the 
light of love and happiness when she 
whom you called mother sat there in 
the old armchair, and sang the sweet 

old songs of long ago, as she wielded 
the knitting needles till the rythmic 
movement of her fingers was the very 
music of motion, and the big white ball 

of yam cut capers on the floor. 


And the needles danced like witches. 
And the nimble fingers flew, 

As they deftly threw the stitches. 
And the big white stocking grew. 

You will be rapt into a reverie 
and visions of the happy past will open 
before you. You will see again the 
old-time fiddler tune his fiddle and 
sweep the vibrant strings, and watch 
the swinging of his bow with his body 
to and fro, keeping time in a sort of 
runic rhyme with the clatter of dwin- 
dling shoe-soles on the floor; and 
again you will dance all night by the 
moonshine light and go home with the 
girls in the morning. You will catch 
echoes of songs that are sung no more, 
and hear peak of laughter that long 
since died away, and feel the touch of 
vanished hands -and the warmth of 
kisses from lips that now are dust. O 
Memory, thou hast power to lift the 
veil and let the spirit look back unon 
that sweet fairy land on the frontier of 
life, but thou canst not lead us hither 
to the loved and lost of other days! 
All thy faces and forms are phantoms, 
all thy songs are dreams ! The near- 
est we can approach to them is to rest 
under the trees where they once rested 
and sing the songs they used to sing, 
and dream under the roof where they 
once dreamed, and sit down at the fire- 
side in the chairs they sat in and there 
commune with the blessed past, and 
swear alliance to the home of our 

The noblest passion that heaves the 
human breast is the love of native 
land. No passing -flood of years can 
quench that flame — it burns on for- 
ever. It is the kindly light that leads 
these sons and daughters of the Lone 
Star State back to seek the hills of 
Tennessee. And why should I say 
welcome, except to give expression to 
that feeling which thrills the mother's 
heart when she throws her arms 
around the necks of her long-absent 

Digitized by 




children and whispers through her 
tears of joy, ** Welcome, thrice wel- 
come !" 

Ladies and Gentlemen : The air is 
full of welcome for you to-day. The 
latch string flaps welcome on the door 
jamb; the hills shout welcome down 
in "Giles County, Pulaski Post Of- 
fice ;" the waters ripple welcome away 
up on Calf- Killer; and the hens 
cackle welcome and the roosters crow 
welcome over in Greasy Cove, and the 
lips of the whole state are puckered 
with welcome, all the way from Poor 
Valley to Memphis, and from Goose 
Creek to the uttermost ends of Tennes- 
see. The foot of McGregor is on his 
native heath and the kettle boils wel- 
come on the hearth, and the pot bub- 
bles welcome on the stove, and the 
cakes are on the griddle, and the chick- 
ens are in the skillet, and the odor of 
fried ham floats out on the mellow air 
and the red gravy runs, and the big 
bronze biscuit lie soaking in the sop, 
and there is welcome everywhere. 

Come when you're looked for, come 

without warning. 
Come in the evening, come in the 

morning ; 
Take all in sight when you turn loose 

the latch, 
And kiss every God-blessed girl you 

can catch. 

Is it not worth the lifetime of ab- 
sence to feel the joy of coming home? 
The old mother state is proud to greet 
you, every one of you, for she looks 
upon her noble sons and daughters 
from the Lone Star State as heroes 
and heroines bringing back the story 
of conquest and the building of an em- 
pire in three-quarters of a century. I 
sometimes tremble when I think of 
what might have been the fate of the 
mighty West but for Tennesseans, who 
went out to subdue the savage wilds, 
and carry civilization and starched 
shirts to where the tomahawk gleamed 
and the catamount screamed, and to 
plant Old Glory in the very citadel of 
the prairie dog and the owl. 

No braver men ever lived than those 
who parted the branches to peer into 

the wilderness in the earlier days of 
the W^est, and those who followed close 
at their heels, to plant that vast system 
of civic institutions which in less than 
half a century have reached a gran- 
deur and perfection which stagger be- 
lief and is unprecedented in all the his- 
tory of the world. 

Jefferson rubbed Aladdin's lamp in 
1803, 2tnd lo ! a new empire loomed full 
on his view, and empires have been 
looming ever since. But the gate 
through which the stream of civiliza- 
tion has been pouring towards the set- 
ting sun with such wonderful results 
was first pried open on the border line 
of East Tennessee — the land of the 
eagle and John Sevier, and oh, what 
a beautiful land it is ! Shall I describe 
it, not in my own words, but in the 
language of an East Tennessean whose 
lips are dust? 

"I was born on the Watauga, which 
in the Indian vernacular means beauti- 
ful river, and beautiful river it is. 
There I have stood in my childhood 
and looked down through its glossy 
waters and beheld a heaven below, and 
then looked up and beheld a heaven 
above, like two mirrors each reflect- 
ing in the other its moons and planets 
and trembling stars ; and from its bank 
of ivy and hemlock, of rock and pine, 
there stretches a vale, back to the dis- 
tant mountains as beautiful and ex- 
quisite as any in Italy or Switzerland ; 
and there stand the great Roane, the 
great Black and the great Smoky 
Mountains, around whose dizzy 
heights the clouds gather of their own 
accord even in the brightest day. There 
have I seen the great storm-spirit go 
and take his evening nap in his pavilion 
of darkness ; and then I have seen him 
aroused at midnight and like a giant 
refreshed by slumber awake the tem- 
pest and let loose the red lightnings 
that shot along the mountain tops for 
a thousand miles swifter than an 
eagle's wing in heaven. Then I have 
seen them get up and dance like an- 
gels of light in the bosom of the cloud 
to the music of that grand organ of 
nature, whose keys seemed to have 
been touched by the fingers of divinity 

Digitized by 




that resounded in thunder tones 
t!i rough the universe. 

**Then I have seen the darkness 
drift away beyond the horizon, and 
the morning get up Hke a queen from 
her saffron bed and come forth from 
her palace in the sun, and while old 
night fled before her beautiful face to 
his hiding pl^ce at the pole, she lighted 
with a smile the green vale and beauti- 
ful river where I was bom and played 
in my childhood. 

"O beautiful hand of the mountains, 
with thy sun-painted cliffs ! how can I 
ever forget thee?" 

It was the irrepressible men who set- 
tled there and their sturdy allies from 
Virginia and Carolina that gave Brit- 
ish power its death-blow at King's 
Mountain and returned to drive the 
savage from the Mississippi Valley. 
The destiny of the New World seemed 
to be shifted into the hands of Ten- 
nesseans. They broke the power and 
crushed the spirit of the allied tribes 
at Nickajack and the Horseshoe. They 
routed an army at New Orleans that 
was itself to conquer the greatest war- 
rior in all history at Waterloo. They 
taught Texans how to die for their 
country at Alamo ; and at San Jacinto 
they led the battle line that liberated 
Texas ; and they made it the broadest, 
the richest and most progressive state 
in the American Union. 

Under the direction of a Tennessee 
President, they followed Scott and 
Taylor to victory in Mexico and ex- 
tended the territory of the young re- 
public until it touched the two great 
oceans that divide the world. 
* * * 

If I had wealth at my command, I 
would build a temple of fame for Ten- 
nessee. I would put in it the statues 
of Jackson and Polk and Johnson — 
Tennessee's three great presidents. 
Around them I would place the statues 
of Sevier and Robertson and Crockett 
and Houston, and around them statues 
of Hugh Lawson White and John Bell 
and Thomas Benton and John H. Rea- 
gan. I would put in it statues of 
Maury and Farragut. I would put in 
it the heroic figures of Forrest and 

P>atc and Cheatham and William H. 
Jackson, and around them I would 
place the statues of Harris and the 
Browns and Gentry and Henry and 
Grundy and Peyton. And right in 
the center of them all I would put the 
figure of my ideal of a hero, and on its 
base I would carve the name of Sam 

If I were a man of wealth I would 
build a monument that should touch 
the clouds to commemorate the glory 
of Tennesseans in the cabinet and in 
the forum and on a hundred glorious 
battle fields. With a history like ours, 
so rich with all that makes a people 
f;reat, where is the son of the old 
Volunteer State, wherever he may 
roam, who does not love her rocks and 
rills and all her templed hills, and 
whose heart does not swell with pride 
to know that she is as prosperous and 
happy as any commcmwealth under the 
flag? Where are the wandering feet 
that do not long to press her sod, and 
the absent souls that do not sigh to 
rest once more in the shade of her 

It is told of an old Tennessean that 
he found his way to Boston and gorged 
himself with baked beans, and when he 
fell asleep a nightmare came and sat 
upon his breast, and he dreamed that 
he died and went to heaven, and the 
angel at the golden gate shook his head 
and said : "Go hence ; no soul has ever 
entered here from Boston." And the 
Tennessean told of Tennessee and the 
Hermitage and old Andy and the 
mountains and the blue grass and the 
women and the horses and the water 
and the air till the angel was melted to 
tears, and the golden gates swung 
wide. The Tennessean entered in and 
as he sauntered down the glittering 
street he suddenly saw a friend from 
Tennessee chained to the jasper wall, 
and he turned to the angel who attend- 
ed him and shouted, "What ho! Ser- 
aph, loose these jeweled manacles and 
tell me why my friend is thus 
chained ?" And the angel fluttered his 
glistening wings and answered, "We 
have to chain *em or they'll all go back 
to Tennessee !" 

Digitized by 




But I repeat, I would not touch the 
jealous chord in the heart of Texans 
by too much praise of Tennessee. Nor 
would I chide the Tennesseans who 
have built their homes where the gulf 
breeze blows, for it is a land of milk 
and honey, and yet it requires a world 
of courage ior a man to load up his 
kettle and his kids to seek fortune and 
fame in that far-away prairie land, and 
he was as valorous as Caesar at the 
Rubicon when he put out the fire and 
called the dog. 

It is enough to know that you are 
happy and prosperous there. It is 
enough to know that within the brief 
years since you landed there you have 

played your part in building the great- 
est commonwealth in this great con- 
federation of states — 2i commonwealth 
as broad as the entire civilized earth 
when Christ came to save it — as broad 
as Europe when it sufficed mankind for 
habitation — ^broad enough now to hold 
every man, woman and child in Ameri- 
ca and rich enough to feed them. A 
Christian land where law and order 
reign, inhabited by a cultured and God- 
fearing people, who brought with the 
accomplishment of this incomparable 
result the unconquerable nerve and the 
dauntless spirit of Tennessee. 

Again I bid you welcome, thrice wel- 
come to the land of your fathers. 

With Our Editors 

>^ vv^fcc:—^^ 

The success of the commission form 
of government in Houston and Gal- 
veston and Des Moines has created the 

_ „ , hope in many other commu- 
Fall in . v^ - . xi_ -n r 
_ . nities that the ills of our pres- 

ent bunglesome municipal 
governments may thereby be cured. 
The inefficiency of the average city ad- 
ministration is attested on all sides. 
Very few private businesses are run 
with the lack of care and business prin- 
ciples which characterize our average 
municipal governments. Perhaps there 
were some, but they are dead. Also, 
even if the corruption which is some- 
times discovered and always suspected 
in city governments does not exist, it 
would be safer for society to get rid 
of such suspicions, especially if it can 
save from twenty-five to fifty per cent 
of its expenses doing so. The ex- 
penses of a single department of the 
city of Houston under the old form 
of municipal government for one year 
was $15,986.60, while the gross re- 
ceipts were $15,172.00, which gives a 
net loss of $814.60. When the city 
changed its form of government to 
the commission system, the expenses 

of the same department were $11,- 
074.81, while the gross receipts went 
to $16,692.75, which gives a net profit 
in that department of $5,415.19. That 
publicity should be given to such fig- 
ures and information showing the ex- 
cellences of the new plan broadly dis- 
seminated, goes without saying. The 
truth of the matter is, there is a wide- 
spread disgust with the lackadaisical 
methods of the average municipal gov- 
ernment. Private businesses run with 
no more care would have been bank- 
rupt long ago. Little by little these 
facts are being understood by the 
masses of voters. Personal responsi- 
bility for expenditures seems to work 
better than the old method of mak- 
ing the city government everybody's 
business — nobody's business. The 
Board of Trade of the city of Nash- 
ville, Tennessee, have recommended 
that the commission form of govern- 
ment be adopted by that city. Other 
municipalities have similar plans on 
hand. It is possible that the g^eat 
storm that laid Galveston low may thus 
be enabled to save American cities 
enough money annually to pay full 

Digitized by 




damages for its bad effects, not to 
mention the salvation of the morals 
of a city run for boodle. 

What the South has long needed has 
at last been gained — b, medium of ex- 
pression for the expression of its liter- 
Like the \^ ^*^5- ^^}? "^^ f."^"s:h 

Voice of ^ ^* ordmary literary 

«j^^ channels of the East should 
Waters. ^ opened to Southern writers, 
but there should be added 
also a magazine or magazines in the 
management of which full sympathy is 
fotmd with distinctly local literature 
and sentiments. Without such pro- 
vincialism, good literature is impossi- 
ble. To the very best written any- 
where there is always attached the 
strong local color. This one mark the 
Taylor-Trotwood Magazine has set 
before itself as a point to be pressed on 
towards, namely : That its voice should 
be the blended tones of the South call- 
ing unto her own, the voice of a moth- 
er section which has been and always 
will be a distinct department of the na- 
tion and hither it is hc^ed that our 
children will ccxne to speak to one an- 
other as they are already coming, 
knowing that they who read will un- 
derstand. Great literary work is im- 
possible without great sympathy on the 
part of the public for it. It is this 
principle which daily assures this 
magazine of its abundant success. For 
that such a S)mipathy does exist be- 
tween our writers and readers, there 
is no doubt whatsoever. The one cre- 
ates the other. The other labors for 
the one. If the Tavlor-Trotwood 
Magazine does no greater thing than 
to make itself the common friend in 
the South of those who write and 
those who read, it will not have lived 
in vain. 

The gloomy pr^ictions of last 
spring concerning the failure of the 
crops of the country may very happily 
17,000,000,000 be ascribed to the spir- 
Worth of iiu^'V^*'^ prophecy 

False Prophecy, ^he long, cold vernal 
season has not brought 
the disaster that had been anticipated, 

and the current estimate for the value of 
the total of farm products of the year 
1907 surpasses that of last year, which 
in its turn surpasses that of all preced- 
ing years. During the last twenty- 
seven years the value of farm prod- 
ucts in America has increased from 
about $2,000,000,000 to $7,000,000,- 
000, which last figure represents the 
estimated value of the crops for the 
current season. This vast sum of 
money coming as it does directly to 
the rank and file of the people, belies 
all stories of impending panic and 
steadies to a wonderful degree the fi- 
nancial situation. After all, the main- 
stay in the market is the cotton boll 
and the wheat sheaf and the corn nub- 
bin. Good crops mean good times. 
The effect which it will have upon the 
South in particular is very satisfactory. 
Ten years ago, there was scarcely a 
farm in some- sections of the Cotton 
Belt that was not heavily mortgaged. 
During the last few years, since we 
have been having ten and fifteen cent 
cotton, these mortgages have descend- 
ed into ash heaps and bank accounts 
have taken their palces. A few more 
years of comparative prosperity will 
build good roads, better homes to live 
in, better schools, fill these homes and 
schools with modern equipments and 
do a thousand things that money can 
do and that poverty cannot. 

Recent discoveries made by many of 
our trustworthy astronomers have add- 
ed the fascination of romance to a 
Who Dare, to f^dy that was already 
Dream Itf beautiful. The pres- 

ent proximity of the 
planet Mars to his sister, the earth, 
has offered an opportunity, not too 
often had, of completing important ob- 
servations already begun in our ob- 
servatories. Expeditions have been 
busy observing the planet on the An- 
des, at Flagstaff, Arizona, and practi- 
cally everywhere else. The efforts of 
Percival Lowell, in particular, have at- 
tracted attention, and his recent book 
on Mars has met with a very cordial 
reception from scientific students. If 

Digitized by 




Mr. Loweirs observations are correct 
(and they tally with those of other ob- 
servers elsewhere), it seems that we 
have in Mars a planet whose present 
condition is a prophecy of the condition 
of this earth millions of years hence. 
What the moon is, Mars will be — dry, 
waterless and without atmosphere. 
What the earth is Mars was, millions 
of years ago, before her waters van- 
ished into her soil and her atmosphere 
was similarly absorbed. To-day 
the planet has such an atmosphere as 
we would find on the peaks of our 
highest mountains and no water at all 
except that which forms our polar caps 
in the winter and melting in the sum- 
mer, is led everywhere by her canals 
for the service of the planet. These 
canals are the most interesting sub- 
jects of comment and investigation of 
all things known about Mars. That 
they are not ocular illusions is shown 
by the fact that observers everywhere 
at all times coincide in their diagrams 
of them and, moreover, the camera, 
which never gets excited and has no 
pet theories, tells the same story in the 
photograph which it gives us. De- 
scription of these canals and the part 
they play in the economy of things on 
Mars is a long tale, but briefly stated, 
it seems that they conduct the water 
from the polar ice caps over the en- 
tire surface of the planet and thus ren- 
der vegetable and animal life possible. 
Furthermore, as evidence of intelli- 
gence, they amount to a demonstra- 
tion. They run as regularly as paral- 
lels of longitude or latitude, meeting 
at certain foci which serve as distribut- 
ing points, and even when they run in 
pairs, never varying from their mathe- 
matical, exactness. Who knows but 
that before the century is ended there 
will be communication between their 
planet and ours, and who can say 
what mysteries of the past, of the pres- 
ent and of the future such communi- 
cations may not make plain to us ? To 
say that it is impossible, is to place 
one's self upon the same plane of faith 
and knowledge as he placed himself 
who said ten years ago that only an 
idiot would believe that a man could 

talk with another man across oceans 
without wires. Altogether the vista 
opened for scientific and even religious 
discovery in the study of this fiery red 
old planet, is most entrancing; and 
greater than Columbus will be he who 
discovers a way to speak with the in- 
habitants of Mars. 

This is not 

The discussion concerning the nomi- 
nation of a Southern man as the Demo- 
cratic candidate for the presidency 
continues unabated. 
"Why shall not the Na- 
tional Democratic party 
nominate a Southern man for the 
presidency?" asks one paper, and then 
proceeds to answer that it will be most 
unwise, imprudent, and untimely to 
do so, adding that it is yet too early to 
forget that the Southern states fought 
a tremendous war to establish the Na- 
tional independence of that section. 
Now, with politics this magazine has 
little to do, but with what general ac- 
count Southern wisdom gives of it- 
self, it has much to do. Luckily, talk 
such as this does no one harm except 
to the man whose heart is revealed 
thereby as being still full of bitterness 
and unprofitable memories. As a mat- 
ter of fact, the fight that the Southern 
states put up some forty years ago 
for their independence is no drawback 
whatsoever to the availability of a 
Southern candidate for the presidency. 
That fight is remembered in the South 
and still accounted a very present fact. 
But so far as Northern sentiment is 
concerned, it might have happened two 
centuries ago. Half of the people 
North do not know anything about it 
or care anything about it. They and 
their fathers have come into this coun- 
try since it happened. It means about 
the same thing to a mass of Northern 
voters that the Revolution means to 
them, and those who know and under- 
stand are inclined rather to trust the 
destinies of the people in the hands of 
a section so distinguished for its 
bravery and later for its unqualified 
acceptance of conditions as the South 
is. Any man who thinks that a South- 

Digitized by 




ern man's father being a Confederate 
soldier would cut off his chances of 
election to the presidency, understands 
little of the temper of the American 
people. If it had any influence at all, 
it would help it ; but the whole ques- 
tion misses the mark by a league. 
Presidents come and go on their own 
responsibility. They are weighed as 
men and not as a Southerner nor a 
Yankee. To nominate a man because 
he is a Southerner is an insult to the 
highest ideals of American statesman- 
ship. To nominate a man because he 
is a Yankee is the same. The South 
will again have its presidents in 
the White House, but not until 
it has them south of the White 
House. What we need is broad- 
mindedness, such as is not exhibited 
by the words quoted above. It is not 
the magnificent struggle of the sixties 
that would keep the Southern man 
from the presidency, it is the lack of 
that spirit to-day. The spirit of the 
sore-head who thinks everybody else is 
sore also must be dynamited in the 
South. Let us stop talking about "be- 
ing excluded from the counsels of the 
nation," and above all things let us 
not regard the g^eat struggle of the 
sixties as being a thing that has dis- 
graced us in the eyes of the country, 
for it has not. On the contrary, it 
has painted an aureole around the head 
of Dixie, and any man who took part 
in it or whose father took part in it 
has more respect in the eyes of three- 
fourths of the men outside of the 

South than the man who did not take 
part in it and whose father stayed at 

Announcement made by Baron Von 
Pilis last month to the effect that the 
North German Lloyd Steamship Com- 
The Dream P^^^ ^^"^^ establish a 
of Three permanent line for the 

Centurie.. transportation of freight 
and passengers between 
Trieste and Charleston, South Caro- 
lina, has caused more than an ordinary 
amount of interest, and has again 
turned the attention of those interested 
in Southern development to the very 
successful attempts being made by 
Southern states to induce a high 
grade of European immigration to this 
country. Baron Von Pilis made a very 
thorough investigation of the situation 
and seemed to be impressed with the 
marvelous industrial development of 
those sections of the South through 
which he passed. It begins to look 
as if the old port of Charleston might 
again resume its important position 
among the shipping points of the coun- 
try, though it will be many years before 
it is as it once was, the fourth largest 
city in America and the third most 
important port of entry. The tremen- 
dous influence of the Old Charleston 
on Southern life has been almost for- 
gotten, yet there was a time when her 
great wholesale houses controlled the 
best business between the Mississippi 
and the sea and when her wharves 
were as busy as those of New York. 

Digitized by 


We hsTe begim thi» deiMhrtment expecting our readers to make it. It has bem snggeeted hj a 
number of onr^adera. and^ere ia no diepartment that should be more popular. There are few o£ uj 
who ha^ not in old swap books, or elsewhere, somethlnr-to prose or poetrr-thatwe cherish: that 
SwbeoSie^ of our souls. sSid them in. thus preserring them and permitting others to enjoy them. 


Not midst the lightning of the stormy 

Nor in the rush upon the vandal foe, 
Did kingly Death, with his resistless might 

Lay the great leader low. 

His warrior soul its earthly shackles broke 
In the full sunshine of a peaceful town; 

When all the storm was hushed, the trusty 
That propped our cause went down. 

Though his alone the blood that flecks the 

Recalling all his grand, heroic deeds. 
Freedom herself is writhing in the wound, 

And all the country bleeds. 

He entered not the nation's Promised 
At the red belching of the cannon's 
But broke the House of Bondage with his 
hand — 
The Moses of the South! 

O gracious God, not gainless is the loss: 
A glorious sunbeam gilds thy sternest 
And while his country staggers 'neath the 
He rises with the crown 1 

— Henry L. Flash. 


Ambitious, shrewd. 

Unprincipled, and ever fond of show, 
Hanno of Carthage, centuries ago. 
Determined to be great : he bought a brood 
Of fledgling parrots, taught them at his 

To scream in chorus: "Hanno is a god!" 

When they were taught, 
He had a hireling place them on the street, 
As if for sale to those he chanced to meet ; 
But yet by no one could the birds be 

Then Hanno passed in pomp, he gave a 


Out shrieked the parrots: "Hanno is a 

"Cunningly done." 

That night said Hanno, as he doffed his 

Of silk embroidery, to seek repose: 
"Distinguished immortality is won; 
For heardst thou not that superstitious 

Catch up the sentence, 'Hanno is a god!'?" 
♦ ♦ * * 

A galley slave, 

Condemned, went Hanno o'er the cloudy 

That hid the fabled Cassiterides ; 
Wealthy in grief, no home except the 

Lashed to the oar, betimes urged by the 

Not very much a man, much less a god. 

It could not win. 

It never did. Although the world applauds, 
It turns at last and punishes its fraud.s. 
Although it may not hasten to begin. 
True to itself, when once it has begun. 
It drives them to the galleys one by one. 
■ — Eugene F. Ware. 


The royal feast was done; the king 
Sought some new sport to banish care. 

And to his jester cried: "Sir Fool, 
Kneel now, and make for us a prayer." 

The jester doffed his cap and bells, 
And stood the mocking court before, 

They could not see the bitter smile 
Behind the painted grin he wore. 

He bowed his head and bent the knee 
Upon the monarch's silken stool; 

His pleading voice arose: "O Lord, 
Be merciful to me, a fool ! 

''No pity, Lord, could change the heart 
From red with wrong to white as wool ; 

The rod must heal the sin; but Lord, 
Be merciful to me, a fool! 

"Tis not by guilt the onward sweep 
Of truth and light, O, Lord, we stay; 

Digitized by 




Tis by our follies that so long 
We hold the earth from heaven away. 

"These clumsy feet, still in the mire, 
Go crushing blossoms without end; 

These hard, well-meaning hands we thrust 
Among the heartstrings of a friend. 

"The ill-timed truth we might have kept, 
Who knows how sharp it pierced and 

The word we had not sense to say-^ 
Who knows how grandly it had nmg? 

"Our faults no tenderness should ask, 
The chastening stripes must cleanse 
them all; 

But for our blunders — oh! in shame 
Before the eyes of heaven we fall. 

"Earth bears no balsam for mistakes; 

Men crown the knave, and scourge the 
That did his will; but thou, O Lord, 

Be merciful to me, a fool!" 

The room was hushed; in silence rose 
The king, and sought the garden cool, 

And walked apart, and murmured low, 
"Be merciful to me a fool!" 

—Edward R. Sill. 


My neighbor Wilson owned a horse — 2, 

sprightly, dapple gray. 
Which, every time he felt inclined, would 

kick and run away; 
But Wilson said that he could break the 

meanest horse that walked, 
No matter if he fought and kicked, or if 

he only balked. 

He said his old bay mare had lost her 

liveliness and vim. 
And thought her action far too slow to 

suit a man like him; 
But when he hitched the young horse up 

beside the old bay mare. 
And sharply told him to "git ap," he 

wouldn't move a hair. 

Well, Wilson shook his fist and raved, — 

or that is what they say, — 
And dropped some words that preachers 

use, but in another way. 
He took a monster wagon whip, and with 

a rousing whack. 
He brought it down in angry haste upon 

the dapple's back. 

The horse kicked things to smithereens, 

kicked at the old bay mace, 
He kicked at everything in sight, and then 

he kicked the air. 
While Wilson stayed behind a tree to 

watch his dapple gray, 
He kicked and kicked and kicked and 

kicked, and then he ran away. 

He took the road to Gentry villc t-^nd gal- 
loped like a streak, 

And in two bounds he crossed the bridge 
that spans old Buckhorn Creek; 

And Wilson followed on to town, but 
heard, to his dismay. 

That all had seen but none could stop his 
kicking dapple gray. 

He knew the horse had passed through 

Dale if he had gone tiiat way, 
And so he 'phoned to Huntingburg, 

"Please stop my dapple gray." 
But soon the answer was returned: "Your 

horse just now went by. 
But lightning could not stop the nag; no 

man of sense would try." 

He heard no more about his horse until 

the other day 
He saw a statement in the Times, which 

ran somewhat this way: 
"A wild horse passed Fort Wayne last 

week. A telegram to-day 
Says it has entered Michigan, and is a 

dapple gray." 

Now Wilson likes an old horse best, and 
says that as for him, 

He wouldn't give one penny for a horse 
with too much vim. 

So fcir as he can learn, his horse is run- 
ning on to-day; 

So when he drives to town he goes behind 
his sober bay. 

— Frank Oskin. 
4t « 

Editors Taylor-Trotwood Magazine: 

Please find enclosed Jack Wills' petition 
to Congress for amnesty, copied from an 
old scrapbook that was started in the 70's, 
I see that you invite subscribers to con- 
tribute to it. 

I am a subscriber to your magazine and 
enjoy it very much. I have other pieces 
that I will send on from time to time and 
I think many readers will enjoy reading 
them. I am very respectfully, 
Bastrop, La. F. W. Turpin. 



Some years ago. Jack Wills' petition for 
pardon attracted widespread attention. Al- 
though this remarkable document possesses 
a degree of merit far beyond many pro- 
ductions that have gained world-wide fame 
it has well-nigh faded from the public 

Jack's petition was read in G>ngress by 
Proctor Knott, in that distinguished 
statesman's inimitable style and his mo- 
tion that the pardon be granted was sec- 
onded by the fiery Radical leader of that 
period, General B. F. Butler. This prayer 
was not only granted, but his more fer- 
vent one for a good, fat office was prompt- 

Digitized by 




ly answered by an appointment as Regis- 
ter in Bankruptcy for one of the 'moun- 
tain districts of Kentucky. 

Dear Knott: I thought as I had time, 

Vd write to you and Beck in rhyme, 

To let you know that I am well, 

A span's length yet or more from hell. 

I also send petition signed 

By loyal men who were so kind 

As to endorse and recommend 

For clemency your wayward friend. 

Please push it through and thus relieve 

A rebel who past sins doth grieve; 

And you may tell each friendly Rad 

That, though I was a rebel bad. 

My penitence is deep and true, 

More than I dare express to you. 

When Jephtha, Judge of Israel, fought, 

The Ammonitish host, and sought. 

In prayer, the aid of Israel's God, 

To drown his foes in their own blood, 

He made a vow he hadn't orter, 

And thereby lost his only daughter. 

This, now, I'm sure old Jep repented 

Until he felt almost demented. 

If all of Holy Writ is true, 

Old Pharaoh did the Jews pursue 

With numerous hosts intent on slaughter; 

Until he got neck-deep in water; 

With penitence no doubt profound 

His soul was filled before he drowned. 

And thousands evil ways have tried 

Who felt repentance ere they died, 

But few have felt such deep contrition 

As he who sends you this petition. 

Some for their crimes get thrown in prison 

And some get ropes around their 'wizen; 

Some after death are sent to hell. 

All these can bear their fates quite well, 

But he who with a gory hand. 

Stirs up rebellion in the land 

Against the best government under the 

And fails in his purpose, is forever un- 
No prison for him let no gallows be built. 
The red ocean of hell is too mild for his 

That pit of perdition where the devil and 

his kith 
Are weeping and wailing and gnashing 

their teeth 
Is too full of pleasure! Let's invent some 

new plan 
To punish and torture this rebellious clan ! 
Thus our lawmakers and with cruel in- 
Went to work and concocted the Four- 
teenth Amendment 
A man can stand being hung or put in jail. 
Face the guillotine, too, without turning 

And pleasantly travel the pathway to hell. 
And plunge in as though without fear he 

fell. ' 
But just think, my dear Prock, and you 
are no novice. 

How a Kentuckian feels when he can't 
hold office. 

Old Spain's inquisition and the racks 
there applied 

To torture mankind may be thrice multi- 

Then add gallows and jail, and the for- 
tunes of hell, 

And the figures you get begin scarcely to tell 

The miseries of him whose scales of de- 

Is laid down by law in this Fourteenth 
Amendment ; 

Not that he cares much for the Yankee 
blood spilt, 

Or for those he has wounded or those he 
has kilt. 

But his cup of misery he thinks full 
enough is 

When he knows he's proscribed and can 
never hold office. 

Remorse and repentance express but con- 

When compared with the rule in this 
Fourteenth Amendment. 

Why it's bad enough, Prock, when he 
can't get elected. 

It makes him feel sorry, repentant, de- 

But to say he shan't run, O, ye gods! 
what contrition 

Fill's up a man's heart in this awful con- 
dition ! 

Such condition is mine and it worries me 

And pierces my soul to my heart's very 

And I am sure when your friends see how 
I am grieved, 

They will hurry up the cakes and get me 

O, my country! my country! How I'd 
like to serve it. 

In some good, fat office, for I know I de- 
serve it. 

You may tell your friends, too. 111 re- 
member in prayer. 

Those who in relieving your friend shall 
take share; 

And I'll here give a specimen prayer, by 
the way. 

For fear they may think I don't know how 
to pray: 

Thou Ruler of both good and bad, 

Look down and bless each friendly Rad, 

Who hastens forward with agility 

To free Jack Wills of disability; 

May pleasure on his pathway shine; 

May he for office never pme; 

May he never know defeat. 

Unless some Reb can get his seat 

May he live one thousand years. 

His eyes be never wet with tears. 

Except it be with tears of joy. 

Of pleasure mixed with no alloy; 

And spend his days in sweet contentment. 

Free from the d d Fourteenth Amend- 

Digitized by 



TliiB department la open to onr readers for the exprenlon of their o];»inions on. qnestlona of 
pablie interest. The editors, while inviting contribatlonB bearins on measores and erents of 
general interest, reserve the right to ezolnde enoh matter as is not deemed soltable, and are not 
reqxmsible for ofrinions expressed. 

EonoRS Taylor-Trotwood : 

The following verses were read by Hon. 
C. C. Pierce at a recent gathering in Fort 
Worth, and were so greatly enjoyed, it 
occurs to me that many of the readers of 
our magazine may take pleasure in them. 
The author is one of Austin's rising young 
men. Yours very truly, 

John W. Adair. 

Ft. Worth, Texas, 


As lifts some oak's magestic span, 

Above its kindred wood; 
So thus, amidst his fellowman. 

The kindly Lincoln stood. 

Sprung from the walks of humble life. 

And cast in hardy mould, 
He bravely faced the storm and strife, 

With heart of beaten gold. 

His soul, as from the parent spring, 

Ran pure, and undefiled; 
In greatness — greater than a king. 

In tenderness — a child! 

With wisdom, that will live to guide, 
Through all the coming years. 

His wholesome humor gashed beside, 
The bitter fount of tears ! 

He warmly clasped, with brawny hand, 

The wealthy and the poor, 
And drew with love, from palace grand, 

To cot and cabin door. 

Through gloom of fraticidal war, 

He held to duty — true, 
Devoid of hate — forgive them for 

They know not what they do! 

With love for man and truth and right, 
He prized his country's worth. 

And bare her cross, that freedom might. 
Not perish from the earth! 

Sleep, Lincoln, 'neath the folds so dear, 

Of flag you died to save ! 
A Southron twines this chaplet here. 

And lays it on your grave. 

— Luther A. Lawhon. 

Taylor-Trotwood Pub. Co., 
Nashville, Tennessee. 
Sirs: Your article on the trial of Sam 
Davis in the June issue of your magazine. 

reminds me of a poem written by Ella 
Wheeler Wilcox on the same subject for 
the Confederate Veteran. Will you please 
publish it if you can procure it, and oblige. 

J. W. Black. 
Chant, Indian Territory. 

Editors Tavlor-Trotwood : 

I shall be pleased to have you reprint the 
poem, "Sam Davis," in your very interest- 
ing magazine. Credit it to me in "Poems 
of Power." Ella Wheeler Wilcox. 

Short Beach, Connecticut. 


When the Lord calls up earth's heroes 

To stand before his face, 
O, many a name unknown to fame 

Shall ring from that high place! 
And out of a grave in the Southland, 

At the just God's call and beck. 
Shall one man rise with fearless eyes 

And a rope about his neck. 

For men have swung from gallows 

Whose souls were white as snow. 
Not how they die nor where, but why. 

Is what God's records show. 
And on that mighty ledger 

Is writ Sam Davis' name — 
For honor's sake he would not make 

A compromise with shame. 

The great world lay before him. 

For he was in his youth. 
With love of life young hearts are rife. 

But better he loved truth. 
He fought for his convictions. 

And when he stood at bay 
He would not flinch or stir one inch 

From honor's narrow way. 

They offered life and freedom 

If he would speak the word; 
In silent pride he gazed aside 

As one who had not heard. 
They argued, pleaded, threatened — 

It was but wasted breath. 
"Let come what must, I keep my trust," 

He said, and laughed at death. 

He would not sell his manhood 

To purchase priceless hope; 
Where kings drag down a name and crown 

He dignified a rope. 
Ah, grave! where was your triumph? 

Ah, death! where was your sting? 

Digitized by 




He showed you how a man could bow 
To doom and stay a king. 

And God, who loves the loyal 

Because they are like him, 
I doubt not y^t that soul shall set 

Among his cherubim. 
O Southland ! bring your laurels ; 

And add your wreath, O North ! 
Let glory claim the hero's name, 

And tell the world his worth. 

--Ella Wheeler Wilcox. 

Dear Editors: 

Here are some verses I picked up some 
forty years ago, while campaigning. I 
think may be it was in Mississippi. Good 
reading was scarce in the C. S. Army, and 
some of us used to commit to memory 
choice bits of poetry and prose, wherewith 
to beguile the tedium of night marches or 
lonely vigils. I do not know the name of 
the author. Like Bottom, the weaver, "I 
have a reasonable good ear in music," and 
thus acquired the habit of looking out for 

To me and my wife, also from "ole Fer- 
ginny, whar I come fum," the Taylor- 
Trot wood is the bright, particular star in 
all our broad galaxy of magazine litera- 
ture, and "here's to your goot health, and 
your family's goot health, and may you live 
long and prosper!" 

Yours sincerely. 

Joseph A. Wilson. 

Lexington, Kentucky. 


Oh, but the languid summer, 

It drifteth away too soon; 
My heart expands in the sunshine. 

Like a flower that blows at noon : 
Never a breeze on the mountain. 

Scarcely a breath on the sea, 
And the sun's red rays set the skies ablaze. 

Oh, these are the days for me. 

The passionate heart in my bosom. 

Like a bird on a tropic isle. 
Grows drunk with blooms and subtle per- 

And basks in the sun's hot smile. 
Oh, blossoming garden of roses. 

Oh, season of languid heat! 
Oh, fervid hours, that smother the flowers. 

You are so sweet — so sweet! 

Linger, oh beautiful summer! 

Oh, siunmer of love and light; 
Bloom, breath, and glow, for the winter of 

Is lurking, just out of sight. 
G>me closer, my prince, my darling. 

Let us live and love while we may. 
For the gloom of death, and sorrow's 

Are coming to us one day. 

Bloom, oh blossoming gardens. 
Blow, oh winds from the south! 

Lean, oh my lover, and touch me 
Aspain with your beautiful mouth. 

Editors Taylor-Trotwood Magazine, 
Nashville, Tcnn. 

Gentlemen: I am handing you here- 
with a bit of a poem, ''A Southern Sum- 
mer's Night," which I hope you will like. 
I am so infernally tired of receiving the 
conventional "not suitable for our col- 
umns," that, by many of my friends, ray 
life is despaired of. I would actually 
rather listen to a school girl recite, "Cur- 
few Shall Not Ring To-night," than to read 
one of those ever-to-be accursed testimon- 
ials of the sender's asininity. 

With great respect, 

Wick Blanton. 

Floresville, Texas, May 6, 1907. 

After reading the above we decided it 
was a case of suicide or publication, so 
here it is. The poem is, however, better than 
many we receive. — Ed. 


Starlight tangled in the roses, 
Moonbeams lodged among the trees. 
Fairies dancing in the posies 
To the music of the breeze; 
On the waters lilies sleeping, 
Violets dreaming in their bed. 
While the golden stars are keeping 
Sacred vigils overhead. 

Rich magnolia banners waving 
In the fragrant air of night, 
Silken flower petals laving 
In the soft dew's liquid light: 
Hill and valley wrapped in glory. 
Rivers singing on their way 
Mingling their enchanting story 
With the streamlet's rythmic lay. 

Blue bells nodding, daisies swaying 
In graceful, measured time 
To the tune the stars are playing. 
To the night wind's holy dhime. 
While the daffodils are bending 
With their loads of mellow light. 
And the night bird's song is blending 
With the melodies of night. 

Dear Sirs: I have just been reading your 
August issue, and believe me, I cannot say 
how deeply I regret not having seen your 
splendid magazine at an earlier date. To 
one a-weary of the usual ten cent magazine 
of this period, its weak or vicious stories, 
its brazen galaxy of chonis girls, its moral 
lassitude — ^after these, your pages are like 
the winds that roam the nigged hiUs and 
smiling valleys of the country which draws 
me with all the power of atavism. 

Digitized by 




All classes have their own literature— 
the negro and the emigrant have theirs, 
the wealthy cosmopolite has his. I want 
yott to make your magazine the banner of 
the thoroughbred — I want you to represent 
the men whose fathers won this country 
and kept it, who feared nothing save loss 
of honor. 

I am heart and soul with you in your 
attitude toward the necessity of protecting 
our standards at any cost — ^the standards 
of an older, finer generation, whose chil- 
dren many of us are not worthy to be. 

In conclusion, keep your own high stand- 
ards, and go on from strength to strength, 
confident of the sympathy of all right- 
thinking people. Thank you for the chil- 
dren's pictures and the paper on the race 
question. The South has a high mission. 
She must cherish and keep unsullied her 
fame as the cradle of a race "incorrupti- 
ble as fate." Yours truly, 

Springfield, Illinois, Earl Fostes. 

Dear Trotwood: 

Why so much of "Anne'' and so little 
of "Conquerors of the Wilderness"? II 
you expect to establish a publication which 
will take such rank as the South merits, 
let us have one page of trash and twenty 
of as fine matter as is found in the best 
magazines of the country. I mean the ad- 
mirably told story of our forefathers, the 
"G)nquerors." Give it to us in larger meas- 
ure. Why not make it ten or at least six 
chapters each issue? We are the children 
of the pioneers who were never fed on milk 
and water. They had parched com and 
bear meat, but always salt — it was strong, 
nutritious and well-flavored. Give us the 
story of their deeds, and we will help you 
build up a magazine worthy of the noble 
states they made. 

Your friend, 
Descendant op the Conquerors of jbm 

Nashville, August 25, 1907. 


Indian Love Letters. By Marah El- 
lis Ryan. Chicago : A. C McClurg 
& Co. Price, $1.00. 
From the cover to the last pathetic 
page of this book, with its Hopi good- 
luck symbol and its curious typical 
headings, the reader's interested atten- 
tion is closely held. It is not an art- 
less book. This Indian lover has been 
educated at an Eastern college and his 
letters to the pale-faced Eastern girl 
show to the full his appreciation of the 
wide gulf between the Indian's life and 
the white man's. His love, he knew 
from the first, was hopeless, for what 
place could a Hopi,'however well edu- 
cated, find in her scheme of life ? Una- 
ble to fit in the Eastern life, he returns 
to his barren mesas to find himself 
out of place among his own people. 
He is the victim of consumption and 
it has been claimed that this is a fre- 
quent result of confining the Indians 
to college work. The letters breathe 
a touching spirit of poetic sadness. 

The Gang of Six. By H. M. Du- 
Bose. Nashville : M. E. Publishing 
House. Price, 50 cents. 

With unusual insight into the nature 
of boys. Dr. DuBose has depicted the 
gradual leading of six boys from idle, 
shiftless habits into earnest effort and 
purpose. The agency employed in 
their training is a typical young man 
who bands them together into a jolly 
secret fellowship and who makes their 
meetings the occasion of awakening 
their ambition. All the types por- 
trayed are such as are to be found in 
any city, and it is to be hoped that this 
entertaining story may serve to point 
a useful moral. 

Latter Day Sweethearts. By Mrs. 
Burton Harrison. New York: 
Authors' and Newspapers' Associa- 
tion. Price, 50 cents. 
An unusual feature in fiction is the 
introduction of two heroines, eSich 
winsome and wealthy, and each, by the 

Digitized by 




perversity of fate, in love with the oth- 
er's fiance. The entanglements com- 
mence in the first chapter, and the un- 
certainty is sustained until the last 
happy chapter, when all is made 
straight, each lovable heroine coming 
into her own without lessening the im- 
portance of the other. 

Kentucky Eloquence, Past and 
Present. Edited by Colonel Ben- 
nett H. Young. Louisville: Ben 
La Bree, Jr. Price, $2.00. 

This volume is a complete compendium 
of the patriotic orations, after-dinner 
speeches, eulogies and lectures by 
noted Kentucky orators from early 
history to the present year. It is 
a happy thought to thus preserve 
the genius of wit and eloquence, which 
might otherwise find record merely in 
the transitory columns of newspapers. 
An especially valuable contribution is 
the poem, "The Moneyless Man,*' from 
the pen of that most gifted of Ken- 
tucky journalists, Henry M. Stanton, 
whose brilliant work has never been 
collected in book form. 

Pipetown Sandy. By John Philip 
Sousa. Indianapolis : Bobbs-Mer- 
rill Co. Price, $1.25. 
The reader very naturally looks for a 
musical story from the noted band 
master, but in Pipetown Sandy he 
shows his versatility by delineating the 
characters and episodes of a small vil- 
lage. Red-headed Sandy, tall, raw- 
hontd and freckled, acts as love's mes- 
senger between the grocer and a bux- 
om widow, starts an ingenious fad 
for fish-eating (controlling the supply 
himself), boxes, builds boats and ex- 
hibits generally that quality which "the 
Jedge" denominates as "help yerself 
an' git there." 

Family Secrets. By Marion Foster 
Washbume. New York : The Mac- 
millan Co. Price, $1.25. 
Under this attractive title the author 
has collected a series of essays on the 
homely problems of everyday life, 
which appeared last year in Harper's 

Bazar, and attracted wide and favora- 
ble comment. A family narrative 
forms a thread of continuity, serving 
admirably to connect the lessons of 
philosophy and cheerfulness. 

The Long Road. By John Oxenham. 

New York: The Macmillan Co. 

Price, $1.50. 
A Russian decree of exile forms the 
theme for a striking and absorlnng 
story. The exiles love and marry and 
suffer in Siberia, are hunted and har- 
ried, robbed and pillaged at the pleas- 
ure of the brutal, besotted officials. 
Stepan Iline, a child in the opening 
chapter, runs the gamut of life in the 
penal settlement and ends his life, after 
years of persecution, starvation and 
fighting wolves, a demented old man, 
still lovable and human. 

Richard Eluott, Financiee. By 
George Varling. Boston: L. C. 
Page & Co. Price, $1.50. 
This is a book deserving wide and 
thoughtful reading. It deals with the 
unscrupulous efforts of a man to win 
in the mad race for wealth, the desola- 
tion caused by his abuse of sacred 
trusts and his unprincipled schemes, 
and the final ruin of his own fortunes 
by the wickedness of his shameless 
son. It is a graphic sermon on the 
text, "Whatsoever a man soweth that 
shall he also reap," and it is told in 
most interesting fashion. 

A Victor of Salamis. By William 
Stearns Davis. New York: The 
Macmillan Co. Price, $1.50. 
Not since Charles Kingsley's "Hy- 
patia" has there ai^>eared a story of 
classic history so rich in interest as 
that of the young athlete who wins the 
laurel wreath at the Isthmian games. 
The period is the time when Athens 
was queen of Greece, and Greece led 
the civilized world; when Xerxes the 
Great was at the zenith of his power 
in Persia and attempted to subdue the 
Hellenes. One cannot read of Ther- 
mopylae, with its one messenger of de- 
feat, and the brave rally and victory 

Digitized by 




at Salamis, by which the Parthenon 
and the treasures of Phidias, Sopho- 
cles and Plato were saved to the civ- 
ilized world, without a thrill of enthu- 

Roger of Fairfield. By Virginia C. 
Castleman. New York and Wash- 
ington : Neale Publishing Co. Price, 
Miss Castleman belongs to the school 
of young Virginia writers who are 
preserving the records of their state's 
glorious and chivalrous past. Roger 
of Fairfield is a gallant, care-free boy 
of the Cavalier type to whom the cruel 
•chances of war bring desolation and 
ruin, but like hundreds of others of 
his type he faces his misfortunes nobly 
and finds a higher, if different com- 
pensation than would have been possi- 
ble under the old regime. 

The Rome Express. By Arthur 
Griffiths. Boston : L. C. Page & Co. 
Price, $1.25. 
A shred of lace and a bit of bead 
trimming in a compartment of the 
Rome Express, where an Italian bank- 
er is found murdered, lead to the ar- 
rest of an English countess in the next 
-compartment, and she suffers severely 
at the hands of the French and Italian 
"detectives before the identity of the 
real murderer is discovered by the 
aid of the countess' friends, who are 
firm in their belief in her innocence, 
despite the circumstantial evidence of 
an acquaintance with the murdered 
man, and the other evidence which 
seems to point to her. The story is 
•exciting throughout, and the contrast 
of the various nationalities makes it 
of absorbing interest. 

The Story of the Outlaw. By 
Emerson Hough. New York : Out- 
ing Publishing Co. Price, $1.50, 
From the guerrilla bands of the Civil 
War to tfie James boys and Billy the 
Kid, Mr. Hough gives an account of 
the deeds of outlaws of more or less 

repute. Some of these he robs of 
their glory, showing them to be merely 
imitation desperadoes, but to some he 
accredits the wild recklessness, the 
daring deviltry and all the chivalry 
with which tradition has clothed 
them. The author knows his West 
thoroughly, and gives the accounts of 
the robberies, the fights and the capt- 
ures as he had them from the sheriffs 
who put an end to outlawry. 

Racial Integrity. By A. H. Shan- 
non. Nashville: M. E. Publishing 
House. Price, $1.25. 
No volume recently issued on this im- 
portant subject more fully and g^phi- 
cally portrays the real status of the ne- 
gro problem than does Mr. Shannon's 
book. It is an able, thoughtful study 
of the question, its causes and its reme- 
dy, and it deserves careful reading. 

Stand Pat. By David A. Curtis. Bos- 
ton : L. C. Page & Co. Price, $1.50. 
Draw poker was a fine art and the 
principal recreation when the Missis- 
sippi steamboats were the chief traffic 
carriers in this country. These boats 
— not ''steamers," the author points 
out clearly — were the academies from 
which the first-class players were edu- 
cated. The game emjoyed an honora- 
ble distinction and was played openly, 
as "guns" were worn openly and gen- 
tlemen and sharpers were alike skilled 
in both gun play and poker. "Stand 
Pat" is a collection of short stories 
held together by a thread of continuity. 

Prisoners of Fortune. By Ruel Per- 
ley Smith. Boston : L. C. Page & 
Co. Price, $1.50. 
Tales of piracy are always fascinating 
and the hero of Mr. Smith's latest book 
tells his adventures in a particularly 
delightful way. Captain Kidd, Teach, 
Blackbeard and other freebooters are 
brought into the story, while buried 
treasure, shipwreck, a captive maiden 
and the death of the pirates, all skill- 
fully interwoven, keep up the thrilling 
interest to the very last page. 

Digitized by 




By W. O. Thomas 

THE state of Arkansas is a 
heavenly body, including the 
Hon. Jefferson Davis, Sena- 
tor-elect, and J. R. Taylor, editor of 
the Paragould Soliphone, This is said 
advisedly. For every schoolboy knows 
that the earth is described in his ge- 
ography as a heavenly body, and Ar- 
kansas, being so considerable a por- 
tion of the earth's surface, must neces- 
sarily be included in the same cate- 

There is a legend extant to the ef- 
fect that once upon a time a traveler 
passed through Arkansas and inter- 
rogated an old settler as to the num- 
ber of his offspring. To this query 
the settler referred the traveler to the 
old 'oman. Since then the Federal 
census has come to the relief of the 
inquiring stranger, and the prolificacy 
of the inhabitants of Arkansas is care- 
fully shown and bound up in red, 
white and blue tape in the Washing- 
ton archives. 

Arkansas is perhaps one of the 
least known states in the Union. But 
if the reader will consult the thou- 

sands of Tennesseans who have set- 
tled in this state, to say nothing of the 
many other thousands who have 
flocked here from other states he will 
be told with a boundless enthusiasm 
and matchless optimism that no other 
land so overflows with milk and honey 
and so nearly borders on the glory 
land as the glorious state of "Arkan- 
sas." And it is pronounced "Arkan- 
saw," with a gusto sanctified and war- 
ranted by a special set of the legisla- 

Let me give you a running idea of 
Arkansas. The state has 53,045 
square miles, or 33,948,800 acres. It 
has 3,868,800 more acres of land than 
the imperial state of New York. It 
has 2,756 miles of navigable rivers. 
In its mountains are acres of silver. 
antimony, zinc, iron, lead, copp)er, 
manganese, marble, granite, nitre 
earths, kaolin, marls, paints, free- 
stone, limestone, buhr and rock crys- 
tal. Many of these ores are being 
worked on a. large scale. It is the 
largest producer of whetstones, rang- 
ing from the very finest to the coarser 

Digitized by 




qualities, in the world. Some gold has 
been found, and as I write, there is 
much interest being manifested over 
the discovery of a diamond field in 
Pike County, in the southwestern por- 
tion of the state. A great many dia- 
monds have been found and an East- 
cm S3mdicate is making thorough in- 
vestigation of this field. 

In Arkansas almost every variety 
of land suitable for agricultural pur- 
poses may be found. In the south and 
central portions the land is inexhaus- 
tibly fertile. Here the cotton aver- 
ages from one to one and a half bales 

yet in its infancy. As for the climate, 
it may surprise the reader to know 
that the annual mean temperature of 
Los Angeles, California, is about one 
degree less than that of Little Rock. 
To-day, the population of Arkansas 
is approximately two million. In 1880 
it had a population of 802,525. The 
government of Arkansas is that of a 
pure democracy. The state is vigilant 
in maintaining its autonomy. The 
people arc jealous of their liberties, 
and if there has been of recent years 
a slight tendency towards drastic leg- 
islation against corporate influences, 


and com seventy-five bushels to the 
acre. I have been shown corn four- 
teen feet high, hefty in stock and 
plethoric of ear. In the swamp lands 
it beats Louisiana for rice, the pro- 
duction often running as high as one 
hundred bushels to the acre. The al- 
luvial soils run as high as thirty feet 
in depth. In the uplands is produced 
the finest of fruits. The apples of the 
Ozarks excel any other apples in the 
Union, both as to variety and extent 
of product. Every variety of fruit, 
grain and vegetable may be grown to 
advantage in the state. In the devel- 
opment of its minerals the state is 

caused largely by monopolistic usur- 
pation of power, the courts are see- 
ing that the proper equilibrium is pre- 
served. The spirit of pure American- 
ism is abroad in Arkansas and its 
soil is not adapted to the propagation 
of graft. 

Volumes might profitably be writ- 
ten on Arkansas, its remarkable re- 
sources and adaptability to almost ev- 
ery form of human endeavor, its equa- 
ble climate, the inducements it offers 
to the home-seeker, but this is pri- 
marily an article on Paragould and 
Greene county. 

Greene County lies in the northeast- 

Digitized by 




ern part of the state. It has an area 
of 600 square miles. The county was 
named after General Nathaniel 
Greene, of Revolutionary fame. The 
principal towns of the county are Mar- 
maduke, Gainesville, Lafe, Delaplaine, 
Walcott and Lorado. The county has 
an excellent system of schools, both 
public and private, and there are about 
one hundred school houses, under the 
supervision of C. E. Richardson, 

Valley and west is the Cache Valley. 
The alluvial soil in these valleys make 
them incomparably rich and amazing: 
crops of com and cotton can be pro- 
duced thereon. The slopes of Craw- 
ley's Ridge are a sandy loam, semi- 
alluvial and are exceptionally adapted 
to the growth of wheat, vegetables 
and fruits. Land can be purchased in 
Greene County for from $10 to $50 
per acre. The timber interests of the 


County School Superintendent. The 
teachers and directors maintain per- 
manent organizations and educational 
sentiment is at high tide. 

Crawley's Ridge extends in a south- 
westernly direction through Greene 
County and divides the county into 
three natural divisions. This ridge has 
a width varying from five to ten miles, 
with gentle slopes to the lowlands and 
valuable spurs of san^ and gravel. 
East of the ridge is the St. Francis 

county are very valuable, and that 
and the cultivation of cotton and corn 
are the chief productions. This is a 
great grass country and four crops of 
hay may be produced annually, yet 
the farmers do not raise enough hay 
for local consumption. This is an 
anomalous condition. What is needed 
here, and, indeed, throughout the 
South, is a general introduction of di- 
versified farming. In this section the 
farmer may get prodigal returns for 

Digitized by 




the expenditure of his capital and en- 
ergy. Greene County now produces 
annually about 2,500 bales of cotton 
and about enough corn to supply the 
local demand. Up to the present time 
the productive energies of the people 
have largely been diverted to the tim- 
ber industry but the opportunity is 
ripe for the man who tills the soil. 
The population of the county is 30,- 
poo. There are less than a hundred 
colored people in the county. The 
county affords exceptional opportuni- 

trious. They practice the homely 
virtues, are hospitable, law-abiding 
and God-fearing, attend conscientious- 
ly to the obligations of church and 
state, and there is a steady trend in the 
direction of the higher life. There are 
no saloons in Paragould or Greene 
County, and the moral spirit of the 
people is strongly developed. 

In the way of public utilities, Para- 
gould has three railroads — the Cotton 
Belt, Missouri Pacific or Iron Moun- 
tain and the Paragould-Southeastem. 


ties for investors in timber and farm 
lands. Especially will the farmer of 
small means and an abundance of en- 
ergy and enthusiasm find this a fine 
field for diversified farming either on 
a large or small scale. 

Paragould is the county seat of 
Greene County. It has a population 
of 7,000 white and no negroes. Of the 
ten thousand school children in the 
county only fourteen are colored. 
This is strictly an Anglo-Saxon com- 
munity, and in obedience to the law 
of segregation, like seeks like. The 
people are sober, frugal and indiis- 

There is a fair prospect of the Para- 
gould & Memphis railroad being built 
at an early day. There is an excel- 
lent telegraph and telephone service. 
The city waterworks afford an abun- 
dant supply of water, and a sewerage 
system is in immediate prospect. 

Industrially the city has electric 
lights, ice plant, five tight barrel stave 
and heading plants, which ship more 
tight barrel stock than any other point 
in the world, one canning factory, one 
hub factory, three large handle fac- 
tories, one flouring «iill of 200-barrel 
capacity, three system cotton gins, one 

Digitized by 





pin factory, one foundry and machine 
shop, two laundries, one saw mill, two 
planing mills, two lumber yards, two 

brick plants, one concrete block plant, 
one sucker rod factory and a num- 
ber of smaller industries. 

All the mercantile lines are well rep- 
resented, and all the country produce 
finds a ready market here. The dty 
has four banks, with a total capitaliza- 
tion of $325,000 and deposits of $625,- 
000. One Cumberland Presbyterian, 
one Roman Catholic, two Baptist, two 
Methodist and two Christian churches 
constitute the religious foci, and the 
fraternal societies are unusually well 
represented. Paragould has the repu- 
tation of being the best church-going 
city of its size in the state. 

In the way of educational advan- 
tages the city has two public schools 
with a third in course of building, to 
cost $20,000, the Thompson Qassical 
Institute, Justice's Academy, Parrish 
Business College and St. Mary's 
Parochial Academy. 

The Parrish Business College was 
founded June 14, 1899. A charter was 
obtained in 1900. The average an- 
nual attendance for the first four 
years was about ninety. The enroll- 
ment last year was 135. B. S. Parrish, 


Digitized by 




B.S., is the president and the guiding 
spirit With well-appointed and ample 
Utilities, both in the way of building 
and equipment, backed by a manage- 
ment tljat recognizes that education in 
any line must be comprehensive, logi- 
cal and thought-producing, this in- 
stitution has forged rapidly to the 
front and is building up a far-reach- 
ing reputation. At present the school 
has in its^ enrollment students from 
fourteen different states, and its 
graduates have no difficulty in obtain- 
ing high-grade positions. 
Another institution of great merit 

the building of this institution. There 
is a Baptist Room, a Maccabees' 
Room, a Methodist Room, a Mrs. M. 
E. Dickson Room, a Qerk's Room, 
and a M. F. Collier Room. 

This beautiful sanitarium is the out- 
growth of the faith and works of Drs. 
A. G. and H. N. Dickson. Any one 
in Paragould will tell you that these 
gentlemen are not only skilled physi- 
cians and surgeons, but that they pos- 
sess a fine spirit of altruism and are 
completely absorbed in the delicate 
and intricate duties and obligations of 
.their profession. They are the busi- 


is the Paragould Sanitarium. It is 
one of the most beautiful pieces of 
architecture in northeast Arkansas, 
and one of the best-equipped sani- 
tariums in the South. It is a five- 
story building, including a conrnio- 
dious concrete basement The foun- 
dation is stone, the walls pressed 
brick. It has mansard gables and broad 
concrete porches, with lofty colonial 
columns, and with its commanding 
position and pleasing outlines it is de- 
cidedly the most imposing building in 
Paragould. The equipment is com- 
plete, and every department is a model 
of neatness and utility. The people of 
Paragould took a pardonable pride in 

est and most useful men in Greene 
County, and under their management 
the Paragould Sanitarium radiates 
beneficent forces whose value cannot 
be calculated. It should be especially 
mentioned that this sanitarium is 
equipped with a general library of 
seven hundred volumes for the use of 
the patients, donated by the citizens of 

The greatest asset any town may 
possess is the public-spiritedness of its 
citizens. Two men who have done 
more for Paragould than any others 
are M. F. Collier, president of the 
Paragould Trust Company, and J. R. 
Taylor, editor of the daily and weekly 

Digitized by 




Soliphone. Mr. Collier is perhaps the 
best loved man in Greene County. He 
is a man of large purposes and liberal 
sympathies. He never turns a deaf 
ear to any worthy enterprise and sets 
such an example of pure, unselfish, 
instinctive co-operation and rare, gen- 
tle faith in the ultimate good of all 
honest endeavor that, if practiced 
universally, would transform this old 
pushing, seething earth into a Para- 
dise. I have said this much because 

Among the other prominent Ten- 
nesseans is S. R. Simpson. Mr. Simp- 
son IS a lawyer, who has made him- 
self felt in the state. He has held the 
position of district attorney for sev- 
eral terms from the Paragould dis- 
trict, and takes an active and intelli- 
gent interest in public affairs. Mr. 
Simpson is also a product of Big Bot- 
toms, Humphreys County, all of 
which leads me to believe Aat Big 
Bottoms, Humphreys County, is tall 

the man is a type of gentleman we are 
badly in need of, and because right 
at this point I feel that I should be 
allowed this little preachment. 

J. R. Taylor, the editor of the Soli- 
phone, is a native of Tennessee. He 
was born in Williamson County, but 
was principally raised in Big Bottoms, 
Humphreys County. Everything in 
Paragould centers from the Soliphone 
office. The plant is equipped with 
linotypes and modern presses, and is 
a model newspaper plant. Mr. Taylor 
is a man of force, a student of eco- 
nomic problems and his paper is a 
pioneer in Arkansas. The Paragould 
Democrat is a weekly paper. Charles 
H. Stewart is the editor, and his paper 
displays marked ability. 

timber when it comes to raising big 

The receipts of the Paragould post- 
office for the fiscal year ending June 
30, 1907, were $11,968. This was an 
increase of over forty per cent over 
the preceding year. Mr. J. H. Mc- 
Pherson is the postmaster. 

If this portraiture does not con- 
vince the reader that Paragould and 
Greene County are favored spots of 
earth, then they are dull of compre- 
hension. Here are conjoined all the 
forces and resources necessary ta 
build up happy and prosperous lives. 
As yet the earth has only been tickled 
in this favored country, and the cry is, 
"Come over into Macedonia and 'help- 

Digitized by 





While the South sets strongly to- 
ward total prohibition, there still re- 
mains in the wake of the liquor traffic 
the shattered wrecks of once-promis- 
ing, hopeful men. That saner, better 
days are coming is one of the best 
signs of the age, but the disasters with 
us to-day, that intemperance has al- 
ready caused, are melancholy and 

Few persons, perhaps, have looked 
upon this affliction in it$ true light. 
Few realize that the confirmed alco- 
holic is suffering from a disease just 
as truly as the typhoid patient or the 

"But," some might argue, "they 
brought it on themselves." 

Possibly true. Humanity is always 
frail. However, a tendency to alcohol- 
ism is often inherited, often it is the 
result of a mere pleasant social in- 
clination that otherwise is very pleas- 
ing and attractive, and then often it 
is the effort of a wracked mind strug- 
gling to escape a mental torture, to 
which you, too, O untempted critic! 
might succumb. But whatsoever the 

source, heredity, pain or the most will- 
ful wantonness, the sufferer deserves 
our kindliest sympathy and attention, 
because after it is done, the victim is 
a sick man, to a great degree an irre- 
sponsible man. 

It is a disease characterized by the 
most appalling physical and moral ef- 
fects. No other malady so saps the 
fiber of manhood, and especially is this 
true of drug addictions. Everything 
points to the fatal results of the dis- 
ease. Life, literature, art combine in 
painting its hideous and protean forms 
and still 

"the solemn brood of care 
Plods on and each one as before will 

His favorite phantom." 

And is there to be no halting, no 
let-up in this Bacchanalian orgy? 
Must hollow-eyed Opium and bloated 
Rum forever stretch palsied hands to- 
ward the ghost of Pleasure ? 

Slowly the medical profession is 
answering that question. Slowly the 
physician realizes that alcoholism is 
curable and that the hideous bur- 

Digitized by 



den of intemperance rests in great tarium is dedicated to this noble and 

part on their shoulders. Christ-like cause. 

Long ago Dr. Keeley made pioneer Drs. Hayden and Brown in charge, 

explorations in this field. Others fol- -are both enthusiastic workers in this 

lowed in his tracks, all the while great field of humanity. Both men 

gradually improving the methods of have had ample experience in hospital 

treatment. Where once the eradica- practice, and their complete establish- 

tion of the habit from the human sys- ment at 1400 Broadway, employs ev- 

tem was fraught with terror, sur- ery remedy known to the medical sd- 

rounded by pain and suffering, to-day ence that goeis to further their spc- 

the treatment for both the drug and dalty. 

the whisky habit is painless, easy, The illustration at the head of this 

not even uncomfortable. article shows their pleasant and com- 

It is to Nashville's credit that she modious quarters, and every reader 

has procured in her midst an institu- of the Taylor-Trotwood can but 

tion devoted to the relief of such suf- wish these two earnest men God- 

ferers. The Hayden and Brown Sani- speed in their work. 


By William J. Burtscher 

Wisdom is hard to get, but still harder to lose. 

When in doubt, don't doubt more than is necessary. 

The secret of happiness is to keep the secret going. 

When people steal glances their attention is arrested. 

Be a gentleman, a whole gentleman, and nothing but a gentleman. 

Cheerfulness is a splendid tonic. Take internally, externally and frater- 

Take things as they come, and send them away a little better than they 

You can't put a bug info some people's ears until they have been hum- 

It is an easy matter to see the good in everything when there is enough 
good in you. 

Think before you speak, while you speak, after you speak and whether you 
speak or not. 

Some people are content to build air castles, because they cannot build 
anything else. 

Many attempts to kill two birds with one stone result in losing both birds 
and the stone. 

If it has seemed good to do good once in a while, it will seem better to do 
it twice in a while. 

Some men are as honest as the day is long, and as honest as the night is 
long after they go to sleep. 

Pay as you go; when you can, pay before you go; when you have to, 
pay after you go ; whatever the circumstance, pay. 

It is an easy matter to conclude that some people have lost their mind, but 
it is difficult to name the thing they have found in its place. 

No man can forget the mistakes he has made in his past life, because he is 
continually reminded of the lessons they have taught him for good. 

Digitized by 




AFTi^m. i.E^OX AND 

Digitized by 


Digitized by 





NO. 3 


By Grace MacGowan Cooke and Caroline Morrison 

IMME them molas- 
ses, Jesse — a Christ- 
mas cake ain't fitten 
I to eat 'thout hit's got 
plenty of molasses 
in it." 

The little splinter 
^!' of a boy staggered 
over to the kitchen 
table with a big jug 
of home-made mo- 
lasses. He was so like his mother that 
it almost made one laugh to look at 
the two of them — she so dark and 
passionate and earthborn, he repro- 
ducing the very toss of the curl- 
crowned head as he flung the thick 
locks back from his big eyes. 

The woman's foot was bandaged 
and laid on a small chair beside her ; 
the boy had brought sorghum, lard 
and flour to the table drawn up near 
at hand that she might mix the Christ- 
mas cake. She looked at her bowls 
and spoons, her materials — and drop- 
ping her head to her arms in the midst 
of them she wept unrestrainedly. 

"Does yo' foot hurt ye, maw?" 
timidly inquired the small boy, pluck- 
ing at her sleeve. Dorinda Gallantine 
had sprained her ankle coming down 
the ridge the day before. "Does it — 
does yo' foot hurt ye?" 

She sat erect and dried her eyes 
with a quick flinging motion of the 

hand that was evidently characteris- 
tic of her. "No," she said, half sul- 
lenly. "I ain't got no call to set here 
and bawl like a baby. I better get to 
work and undo the meanness I done." 

The boy stood awkwardly dragging 
the toe of his heavy shoe across a 
crack in the kitchen floor. An emo- 
tional outbreak scared him almost as 
much as pestilence. 

"Jesse," she appealed to him with 
both hands outstretched, "Tm he'p- 
less now — I got to git you to he'p 
me. You're 'bliged to go down and 
meet Uncle Swaney and send word by 
him to — to Duke Proudfoot." 

The child looked bewildered. It 
was snowing outside; Uncle Swaney 
he knew was bringing their Christmas 
gifts from town — what had Duke 
Proudfoot to do with that? Not but 
what he loved Duke, and would go 
willingly to carry his dinner up to 
the mine ever/ day in the week and 
Sunday — but what was his mother 
talking about, and crying about? 

"What you gittin' me fer Christ- 
mas, maw?" he inquired suddenly. 
"Is that whut you want me to ketch 
Unc' Swaney for and send word to 
Duke 'bout?" 

"No — no. Listen, honey. You' big 
enough to be told 'bout folks marry- 
in' an' all sech — " 

"You ain't gone and sent for a wife 
for me for a Christmas gift?" in- 
quired Jesse, with strong distaste. 

Digitized by 



"Does yo' foot hurt ye, mawT" 

Digitized by 




But his mother did not even smile 
at the thought. Her handsome face 
was set in lines of terrible anxiety. 
She had forgotten the pain in her 
injured foot. "Listen, honey," she 
repeated. "Me an' Duke Proudfoot 
was to have been wed to-morrow — 
Christmas day. I was goin' to give 
you a new pappy fer a Christmas 










I a 







maw," little Jesse observed in a disap- 
pointed tone. "Duke's the finest feller 
anywheres in this county. I wish't — " 

He broke oflF as his mother eyed him 
curiously. He was the only male in 
her immediate family. Would he long 
for swift vengeance on the man who 
had scorned her? Would he promise 
it, as Bart PingVee had promised ? 

When it seemed the child would not 
finish, she went on, "Bart said him 
an' me could marry to-morrow and 

put Duke to shame. He said he'd fix 
Duke in the mine. I knowed well 
whut he aimed at — I seen him do part 
of it. He's cut through the beams that 
holds up the slate in Duke's room 
whar he works at, an' the whole busi- 
ness '11 come down on him when he 
strikes pick in the coal." 

She related this with a frozen im- 
personal air as one whom it did not 
concern. ^ 

"Oh, maw!" burst out the child 
with a sob. 

"I thought then Fd ruther see Duke 
dead than wed to Mandy Scomp. I 
know now that I cain't be the cause 
of his harmin', an' I want you to take 
the nag an' go on down to meet yo' 
Unc' Swaney an' send word by him 
to Duke not to go into the mine till 
he sees everything's all right." 

Slow comprehension had been 
dawning in the face of the nine-year- 
old. "Whar is Duke at?" he asked 
with the sobered air of a man as he 
went for cap and mittens. 

"I reckon he's in town a-gittin' him 
a license to wed Mandy Scomp. I 
reckon ef he ain't with yo' Unc' 
Sw^aney he's apt to be at the 
Scompses," she said, chokingly. "Hit 
does go agin' a body to send word 
thar, but I want no blood on my hands 
at Christmas time. You go an' warn 
him, and let him wed Mandy. You 
an' me c'n take care of each other — 
cain't we, son?" 

He came over and stood beside her 
awkwardly ; mountain people are not 
demonstrative, though they love deep- 
ly and are faithful. "I ain't a-goin' 
nowhars but Scompses," he said final- 
ly. **Duke will be right thar — or he'll 
be comin' thar — and I'll leave the 


Outside, the wind persisted in spite 
of the snow; it whirled the white 
flakes against blackish green balsams 
and tossed feathery drifts higher in 
the steep ravines of the mountain. 

In the cities and towns trolleys were 
clanging up and down the electric 
lighted streets, and gay throng^s were 

Digitized by 



Digitized by 




genial voice. "Here's yo' Sandy Qaus 
— I done fotch Jesse's plunder. 
Whar's he at? I reckon I musn't 
speak too loud." 

With a laudable attempt to moder- 
ate the noise he made, Uncle Swaney, 
for this was none other, somewhat the 
worse for numerous potations at vari- 
ous stations of Christmas cheer along 
his route, lunged into the room and 
threw a burlap sack at her. 

Dorinda looked him over carefully. 
He was still able to stand on his feet 
— with the aid of the door jamb. She 
thought he would get home all right. 
His condition was not specially sur- 
prising or reprehensible for Christ- 
mas Eve. "J^sse ain't here right 
now," she said finally. "Was there 
any change?" 

"In the weather? Well, considera- 
ble," chuckled the old man, subsiding 
on the doorstep, with the half open 
door letting in plenty of the good, 
fresh air, which the mountain people 
love so well that they fellowship it 
even in winter. "Oh, you mean is 
there any change in my britches pock- 
ets? Na'ry cent — naVy cent. Yo' 
money jest belt out to git the suit o' 
clothes, cloth for tw^o waistes, a candy 
orange, an* a Jews-harp." 

The white head in the blending 
glare of snowy background and ruddy 
firelight had a protesque resemblance 
to a picture of Santa Claus pinned to 
the wall over the bed. "Better look 
in th' poke an' shee'f I got everything," 
the old man insisted. He was at the 
excessively accommodating stage of 

Dorinda was too desperately preoc- 
cupied with graver matters to care 
even about her son's Christmas gifts. 
Her heart was down the gusty, stormy 
way with the little nine-year-old and 
the ancient horse, questing desperately 
for Duke Proudfoot. She feared ter- 
ribly that the child might miss him 
after all and come back with the er- 
rand tmdone. Suppose he did; she 
was helpless here; could she detain 
Uncle Swaney and get him to assist? 

She bent to examine the parcels me- 
chanically. Old Swaney nodded in a 

dream where the snow was foam on 
one cosmic glass of beer. 

"For the Lord's sake!" the cry 
aroused him. "What does this mean, 
Unc' Swaney?" Dorinda had pulled 
from the sack a pair of men's trous- 
ers, and one highly-polished new shoe 
of adult size. "Jesse cain't wear no 
sich's that-^he ain't a man growed !" 
she remonstrated, and brought out the 
remaining gear of a countryman's 
Sunday splendor. She knew the coat 
— she had tightened the buttons on it 
when its owner bought it. There was 
no need for Uncle Swaney to slap his 
thigh and shout: 

"Ef I ain't changed pokes with 
Duke Proudfoot! Those thar mus' be 
his weddin' clothes — he let out to me 
he was in town for the license !" 

Dorinda drew back from the gar- 
ments as though they had stung her. 
"Well, take 'em to him, then," she 
cried in a voice of intolerable pain. 
"You ain't got no call to bring Duke 
Proudfoot's weddin' clothes into this 

The old man was still slapping his 
damp trousers, contorting his long, 
lean figure and chuckling. "I 'low this 
here's as good a place for 'em as any- 
whars," he said heartily, sitting u]) 
and wiping his rheumy old eyes. 
"Some say they'd be handiest for him 
right here." And he executed a la- 
borious wink in what was supposed 
to be a -very engaging manner. 

Dorinda Gallantine dragged herself 
up so that she stood on the uninjured 
foot, resting the other knee on the seat 
of her chair. "Unc' Swaney," she said 
^suddenly in a terrible voice, "I'm 
obliged to have somebody to go after 
Jesse. If Duke Proudfoot was with 
you in town he ain't so likely to go 
to the Scompses this night, and Jesse's 
gone down thar to find him. Mebl)c 
Duke might go to the mine without 
seein' Jesse. I — I — somebody's got to 
go after the child an' make sure." 

"Now don't you take on," coun- 
selled old Swaney, comfortably. 
"Duke's the likeliest feller in th' Tur- 
key Tracks, an* apt to take mighty 
good care \ hisse'f. Hit's plumb 

Digitized by 





snowy to-night, an' ef he don't see 
Jesse an' goes on up to the mine — 
why, I reck'n you can put off seeing 
yer beau till Christmas day — I reck'n 
you can." 

Again he executed that elaborate 
but shackling wink. 

"He's fixin' to wed Mandy Scomp 
to-morrow," burst out the woman, 
short of breath like one who has run 
far. "Bift that ain't no reason why 
you 'n' me should be stealin' his wed- 
din' clothes. Take 'em back to him. 
Unc' Swaney, an'. tell him that it ain't 
safe fer him to go into the mine; 
there's death thar a-waitin' fer him." 

"Sho'," said the old reprobate, sit- 
ting suddenly more erect and sobering 
a bit. "Has he done give you the mit- 
ten for Mandy Scomp? An' some o' 
yo' other beaux is layin' for him in 
the mine, air they?" 

"I've said all I've got to say," re- 
plied Dor in da miserably. *T want you 
to take Duke's clothes down to the 
Scompses an' leave 'em there. Ef you 
see him — tell him what I said 'bout 
the mine." 

"But I tell you," the old man roused 
himself and tried to gather his drowsy 
wits together, 'T tell you he ain't a- 
going to Scompses to-night. He said 
somethin' 'bout — good Lord, what 
fools we both air — he'll come a-past 
here to bring Jesse's truck as soon as 
he finds him an' me changed pokes 
when he left the w^agon." 

The unreliable Santa Claus came in 
and stood in the middle of the floor, 
scratching his gray head and looking 
about him. "It's mighty warm an' 
com f 'table in here," he cogitated. 
"Looks turrible stormy outside. Duke 
ain't a-goin' to pester them things o' 
Jesse's. A growed man like him don't 
want candy oranges and Jews-harps." 
He giggled impotently. "Better let 
hitn play Sandy Claus fer a spell — 
I've done went out of the business. 
Duke'll bring your truck, I make no 

Dorinda sank back in her chair and 
stared up at the tall, old white-headed 
man with fear-struck eyes. Her little 
boy was out in the storm, and this 

tipsy old creature could never be per- 
suaded to go look for him. Jesse 
w^ould certainly take the ridge road 
coming back, in the hope that he 
might intercept Uncle Swaney, and 
that ridge short-cut, which was little 
more than a path, abounded in sharp 
declivities and slippery slopes, with the 
rocks heaped under. 

"Unc' Swaney," she pleaded, "take 
that thar lamp and set hit in the win- 
der. Ef you won't go out an' look 
fer Jesse an' Duke, we'll put the light 
in the winder anyhow. Lord, mebbe 
hit'll lead 'em astray ! Mebbe if Jesse's 
alone he'll try to guide by it, and not 
let the nag take her own way. Do you 
reckon tlie lamp '11 be a hindrance, 
Unc' Swaney? Oh, God -is a-punish- 
ing me right now !" And she hid her 
face in her hands. 

The old man looked benevolently 
down on her. He felt a great welling 
up of words in him. The need for 
some one to expend his loquacity upon 
was great. "Mighty few young things 
got enough blind faith in path-find- 
iii'," he pronounced oracularly, and 
was going on, when a faint, far cry 
from the outside interrupted him. 

Dorinda was up in an instant, push- 
ing her chair and hobbling toward the 
door. "Open it," she ordered. "Open 
it quick, Unc' Swaney!" 

For a long moment the old man and 
the helpless woman stood looking at 
each other in the firelit cabin, with the 
wild white storm whirling outside, and 
no sound came to them. Then there 
were voices — two of them — ^that 
laughed and jested. 

Duke Proud foot sprang lithely up 
the steps of the rickety little porch 
with Jesse on his back. 

"I brung yo' a Christmas g^ft, Do- 
rindy," he said smilingly, with half 
apprehensive eyes on her face. 

She shook her heavy hair round her 
burning cheeks and looked down, a 
hand fumbling at her lip, as she an- 
swered awkwardly, "I'm mighty glad 
Jesse found ye, Duke. I couldn't 'a' 
stood it for you to have an accident 
at the mines — to-morrow." 

Proud foot set tlie child down and 

Digitized by 




stared at him with the eye of a pro- 
prietor — a prospective father. ."Fine 
boy, Unc' Swaney!" he observed ab- 
sently. Then he added with more vi- 
vacity : 

"You old eejit, you got my poke an' 
left me the one with Jesse's things in 
it! Here it is," and he hung it across 
the child's shoulder. 

"Sure," hastened Dorinda, with a 
little shaky laugh, "Unc' Swaney is 
the po'est Sandy Claus that's out this 
night, I reckon. Here's yo' weddin' 
clothes, Duke — take 'em, with my 
good wishes," she added in a burst of 

The tall young fellow came close 
and caught her two hands. "Hit'll 
have to be more'n good wishes you 
give for my weddin','* he said in a 
masterful tone. "Jesse done told me 
all that foolishness that Bart Pingree 
had with you concernin' Alandy 
Scomp and me. Good Lord, Doritxly, 
you was mighty easy persuaded!" 

A note of reproach in the tones 
hurt the woman past bearing. She 
turned to hide her face from those 
loving, accusing eyes, anywhere — any- 
where — and found refuge against his 

"Did Jesse tell ye all — all, the awful 
meanness I was willin' to have did to 
ye?" she inquired in muffled tones, 
from that sanctuary. 

"We ^n't never going to mention 
It," declared Duke Proudfoot. "You 
thought when you was mad that you'd 
let the thing go on — but you see you 
never done so. I'v^ got the license in 
my pocket, the preacher is coming up 
to the cabin, 'cause me an' Jesse 
stopped a-past and told him your foot 
was hurt an' you couldn't get out. 
We'll be wed on Christmas day, jus' 
like you promised." 

The old man remembered a patient 
nag standing under the little log sta- 
ble shelter, and a yet more patient and 
overworked wife at home waiting for 
the Christmas things that he was 
bringing. He backed toward the door, 
staring at the couple, blissfully oblivi- 
ous of him, and he winked indus- 
triously at Jesse. 

"Well, folks," he shouted when he 
was in the doorway, "I reckon the 
next time you hire a Sandy Claus, 
you'll git one that'll mix the pokes 
jes' th' same's I did. Hit seems to 'a' 
worked well !" 


What for the fagot's flame? 
What for the hate and wrong? 
Lord God, I bless thy name, 
I, suffering, am strong. 

But, Father, in thy grace. 
Keep from woe's wild unrest, 
The woman and the baby face. 
Soft pillowed on her breast. 

Robert Lovcman. 

Digitized by 



By John Trotwood Moore 

HE young man 

stopped and listened 

— his billiard cue 

poised for a cushion 

carom. It was Ida- 

h o Mack, w h o, 

drunk among his 

band of cowboys, was 

talking. The shout 

which followed was 


"Oh, she'll be here to-morrow on 

the first stage, good enuff — Mack's 

bride — an' a beaut as her phiz will 


Captain Condon did not speak but 
shifted his cigar in his mouth and 
made his play. Then came from the 
carousing group a volley of badinage: 
"I bet she's a ol' maid, tough as 
jerked buffalo." 

''Mack's a peach — the boss broncho 
buster turned Romeo !" 

"Mack, you're lyin' — you couldn't 
fool ary 'oman with the face youVe 

"That's the best yet," said Mack, 
looking cautiously toward the two 
young men who were playing bil- 
liards at the other end of the bar. 
"I used a photograph as proxy — a 
handsome fellow with sto' clo's on, 
an' I'll bet—" 

It was lost in the roar, but the 
young surgeon from Fort Bayard 
who was also playing billiards, walked 
over to the group of excited cowboys, 
and Condon played on indiflferently 
• — but listening closely. 

The surgeon walked carelessly up 
to the crowd — cowboys from Bar lOO 
across the line, miners from the Ma- 
gellan Mountains, prospectors, gam- 
blers, and the piping, jollying voice 
of the woman who ran the faro table, 

high above all. They called her the 
Countess of Monte Faro and it was 
her place, though Jimmy Ike ran the 

The cowboys had been drinking all 
day. Their laugh proved that, for in 
it was the queer ring which bordered 
on the maniac's — the laugh of the 
cowboy w ho has drunk not wisely but 
too \ve\\. 

They had come in from the plains 
that day to spend Christmas week led 
by Idaho Mack. His real name was 
James Mcintosh, but it had long 
grown to be too dignified for the 
deeds done under it. He was a half- 
breed Scotsman, the rest Mexican, 
.with a dash of Arapaho; and in the 
language of Jimmy Ike himself, when 
Mack's deeds came up — three mur- 
ders, two street killings, even in the 
short life of Three Pines — "the same 
is enuff said, one te'ch of Arapaho 
bein' moral pizen." 

There had been a still darker crime 
suspected. It was in the early '8o's 
when Colonel Theodore Condon, a 
gentleman of the old school from Vir- 
ginia, had gone into the Magellan 
Mountains to inspect some gold mines 
he had purchased, taking Mcintosh 
as guide. He was found dead, shot 
from ambush — and the vociferous 
mourning of Mcintosh had cast the 
first grave suspicion on the guide. 
In after years w'hen he became known 
as Idaho Mack, who imbibed often 
and talked much when drunk, he con- 
firmed the suspicions when he showed 
the Colonel's gold watch to a crowd 
of would-be-bullies, and remarked 
that there were more ways of getting 
gold than by digging it from the 
ground ! 

It was an accident, merely, that to- 

Digitized by 




night the nephew of Colonel Condon, 
who had inherited the mines, had 
walked in with a young army surgeon 
from Ft. Bayard, to play billiards. 
Condon came in smiling, handsome, 
with the air of good breeding about 
him, even in his mining corduroys. 
His blue eyes alone spoke — for he 
was given to silence — and they looked 
quickly through the thing they saw. 

His companion came back flushed 
and excited. 

''Cond, it beats the devil — what do 
you suppose he has done?" 

Condon shifted the cigar again in 
his mouth and his blue eyes fell on 
his companion, the lids drooping slop- 
ingly downward like the curve of an 
interrogation point. 

"He is going to marry to-morrow 
— ^a school girl from some eastern col- 
lege. She'll be in on the stage from 
Silver City and the boys are fixing 
to give him a proper send-off." 

The cigar shifted nervously. ''What 
dirt did he do, Val, to fool her?" 

"Sent her the picture of a gentle- 
man and got that Jew lawyer to write 
her his love letters. You know how 
he writes." 

Mack, himself, could now be heard: 

"All's fair in love and cards, pard, 
an' so I let Lawyer Moses there, 
write the love letters — you ought to 
see him quote the poets. He makes 
common ever'day English look like 
a salted mine when the water's riz — 
but it corralled her — him and the 
picture and the signachoor, Sefior Ida- 
ho Mcintosh." 

"She'll faint when she sees the 'rigi- 
nal !" said a cowboy. 

"She will," said Mack, "but Mister 
Mclntosh'll be there to help hold her, 
an' if you don't think she' a peach to 
hold, look here at this picture and lis- 
ten to this letter," and he flourished 
the two above their heads. 

The picture was passed around. 
Condon did not see it, but he knew 
the cowboy nature and when the pho- 
tograph passed before them and 
brought silence instead of shouts, he 
knew it was passing fair, with that 
touch of the Madonna that stirred 

up out-lived instincts in the rough 
men who gazed. 

"Alice in Wonderland" — sniflFed 
the Countess, cynically, when it 
reached her — "Helen of Troy in a 
hothouse" — for the Countess had an 
education of her own, as she boasted. 
She was silent a moment and her pip- 
ing voice fell lower as she added 
coarsely : 

"I can't see that she's any better 
than the other doves you've helped 
soil. Ain't you jes jokin' about all 
this, Mack?" she asked suddenly, 
jumping up and throwing herself 
back, gazing at Mack through the 
half lowered lids of her eyes. 

"The letter beats that," said Mack, 
not noticing her. 

"Let me read it to 'em," the Coun- 
tess suggested, "or* read it yo'self." 

"Traid I can't," said Mack, "you 
see my early education consisted 
mostly in pcrsuadin' cattle to keep on 
tor'ds the North. Didn't have no 
time for book larnin' — here, you read 
it yo'se'f, Countess." ' 

The Countess was willing. She 
drew h\tT skirt tragically around her, 
took the letter and struck an elocu- 
tionary attitude, looking coquettishly 

"Oh, my ! — smell it !" she sniflFed. 

She had opened it — immaculate, 
white, save where the dirt from 
Mack's thumb had smeared the head- 
ing, — and passed it to the nearest cow- 
boy. He gave a reverent whiff and 
passed it to the next. It made the cir- 
cle, like the picture — in reverence and 
silence, carrying with it an odor of 
violets that mingled strangely with 
the smell of pipe and alcohol. 

"Jes' lak the fus' Valentine I got 
in the little old town, long ago," said 
one at last, and the silence deepened. 

"It's from a girl's school in Virgin- 
ia — Staunton — " went on the Coun- 
tess, looking at the heading. 

Condon stopped half way in a dif- 
ficult cushion shot, and listened as 
the woman's voice rang out in the old 
far-fetched, high-keyed Friday after- 
noon way of long ago: 

"I have never told you, my dear 

Digitized by 




Mr. Mcintosh, why I am going to be 
so foolish as to marry you without 
ever having ^een you. Of course, I 
do not love you now — how could one 
whose life has never, until now, lacked 
for all the love of life — father, rfioth- 
er, brother — a sweet dream so soon 
dreamt — oh, how can I write the 
awakening? But only a year ago 
dear mama died and brother — my dar- 
ling brother followed. Now — now 
— how can I write it? — Papa — they 
tell me he is going to marry again — 
he has forgotten us — Mama — brother 
and me. I have told you before of our 
family independence — it runs in our 
blood — ^and combativeness — perhaps 
more — revenge — for we have a trace 
of Pocahontas in us and we have ever 
been brave. Papa fought with Stone- 
wall in the valley and came out a col- 
onel and is now a judge here in Vir- 
ginia. We love hard when w^ love, 
and oh, I did worship Papa — until 
now — now my heart is broken — " 

The Countess stopped. Her piping, 
strained voice had started blithely, 
but ended in a broken, hysteric crack. 
The woman in the letter had gotten 
into the woman of her. 

*'I — cain't— finish it— the po' little 
thing — my father did that same thing 
— an' me — I was jes' as well raised 
— ^as — she — " And she sobbed and 
sat down. 

"ril finish it for you, Madam." 

It was Condon who spoke to her 
and never before, since she had seen 
Three Pines for the first time, had 
any one spoken to her in that way — 
as if she were a countess, indeed. 

"All right, sir," she stammered, 
wiping her eyes and handing him the 
letter. "I wouldn't choose to try to 
finish it — it brought my own beauti- 
ful life back so, you know, gents," 
she said, looking around. 

. Condon had seized it eagerly. The 
cigar had been sucked back deep and 
decisively into one corner of his 
mouth. His blue eyes flashed, yet he 
showed no emotion as he coolly read, 
while fitful scowls shot out at him 
from Mack's black eyes: 

"I have studied your letters care- 

fully," he read on, "and how beauti- 
ful they are 1 You, too, were bom in 
Virginia and educated at Washington 
and Lee. I know from this that you 
will never deceive me, and you will 
never find a white feather in the hat 
of your wife. Then, too, I have heard 
so much about the g^and West— I 
have longed so much to go there and 
ever since Papa has abandoned and 
deserted me — oh, I shall kill myself 
if I find you have deceived me — for I 
will carry a pistol for that purpose— 
for the Randolphs all can shoot— 
themselves as well as others, and oh, 
to be with mama again !" 

He stopped and glanced at the sig- 
nature. There was silence and it was 
broken by a shuffling of feet and a 
young cowboy exclaimed: 

"You'll stop right there, Cap'n. 
You'll hafter get a colder-blooded lot 
o' kyotes 'n this here bunch is to lis- 
ten to the end. Why, that high-blood- 
ed school gal, heart broken by the 
death of her mammy and knocked 
silly by her dad's yokin' up with an- 
otlier runnin'-mate so soon after- 
why it's too much for her 1" 

The cowboy had said it all. One of 
those touches of nature that sends a 
full flow down the canyons of human- 
ity, fell upon them, turning them into 
meadows Qf tenderness* One by one 
they strolled away, leaving Mack and 
the reader alone with the Countess. 
The two men looked intently at each 

"Now look here. Mack— you've 
carried this to» far." It was the 
Countess who spoke. "If she'd been 
o' my stripe now — " 

" Yo' stripe !" and Mack's malicious 
little eyes burned her with their white 
light of anger — "D'ye think I'd ever- 
've wanted her if she'd been sech as 
you? Once in every man's life he 
finds a pearl — an' this un's mine. No, 
by God, she'll be here to-morrow to 
marry Mr. Mcintosh, and Mr. Mc- 
Intosh'll marry her 'er know why," 
and he glanced at the reader of the 
letter while his hand fell on a knife 
at his belt. ' 

Digitized by 




Condon did not reply, but calmly 
put the letter in his pocket. 

Mack sprang towards him, hissing : 

"Give me that letter!" — and his 
right hand struck like a hawk at the 
knife in his belt. 

He looked up in time to see and 
act. For Condon had thrown his pis- 
tol carelessly over his left arm and 
the muzzle was in six inches of Mack's 
heart. Moreover, Condon was smil- 
ing coolly in Mack's face, a smile 
which the latter knew meant death 
and death quickly, and he turned and 
walked oflF. 

The woman had squatted on the 
floor between them. 

"Shoot high, gents, for heaven's 
sake! I'm right between you!" 

A hand touched Condon and he 
turned. It was the young army sur- 
geon. "Come, Cond," he said quietly, 
"we need freer air than this." 

The woman watched them go out, 
drinking in the cool poise of Condon 
as he walked. 

"He called me madam," she whis- 
pered. She watched him till he walked 
out, her face pallid, her ea.s hungry 
for the sound of his voice again. 

Mack walked by, laughing, and 
flipped her ear playfully as he passed 

She turned, biting her lips: 

"You devil — an' you scorn me now 

— vou that brought me here !" 
♦ ♦ ♦ 

That night snow fell, and it was 
four o'clock the next day before the 
stage from Silver Citv struck the first 
slopes on the Magellan. It was nearly 
dark, for night comes very quickly in 
the gor^s of the mountains. The 
four half-bred ponies which pulled the 
stage were tired, for the game little 
fellows, now and then, at the least hint 
from the lines, would stop to blow 
after the steepest slopes. And Red 
Bill, who loved his ponies, had seen 
to it that thev rested several times. 
"Luckv thev ain't but one nasseniG^er 
this kind o' day, an' she jes' a sleepy 

He peeped again through the slit in 
the top. 

"Why, damme, the little one's gone 
to sleep." He was glad of it, for twice 
that day he had seen her weeping si- 
lently, when he peeped through. Then 
he would sit up very stiffly, crack his . 
whip and yell at his ponies. 

"Now, sump'n 'r 'nother's wrong 
thar, an' it's mighty wrong to pester 
sech a pretty thing as she is. Why, 
she ain't much older'n my Liza wuz 
when she died, an' sorter lak her." 

But now that she was asleep, her 
head pillowed in the comer of the 
stage. Bill looked her over carefully. 
Never had he seen so beautiful' a pic- 
ture. He peeped again, taking it all 
in — the heavy eyelashes, drooping 
over eyes wet with unshed tears, the 
fine, high, upturned forehead and 
face, independent — he knew it by the 
very little air it carried even while un- 
conscious. "An' yet tender," said 
Bill, "tender an' game too." 

He could look at her all day, the 
pretty thing, with her pure curving 
lips shut right like a rose unblos- 
som^d. Even the dainty shoes and 
traveling dress told of her breeding 
and her place in the world. 

"But game, game that gal is," he 
chuckled— "thoroughbred an' she ain't 
to be collared by any yaller dog in the 
homestretch — oh, hell — " 

The ponies had stopped suddenly at 
a turn in the road. He cracked his 
long whip, but the leader only cut 
diagonally across the road and 
jammed his front wheel behind the 
fifth. Red Bill sat up now and reached 
to lay it to them with an oath, when he 
saw that two horsemen barred the 
road. Bill ducked and reached in the 
boot for his gun, but he saw as he 
glanced that they held a third horse 
with a side saddle up, and that a 
negro with an express wagon was 
just behind. Then Bill knew that they 
had come for the passenger and he 
wheeled his ponies in: 

"So — ho — there — what's wanted ? 
Looks lak you're gwinter stop me, 
whether or no" — and he brought his 
ponies around deftly. 

"Have you a passenger there, Bill?'' 
It came quietly, pleasantly from the 


Digitized by 




man in front, who sat a half thorough- 
bred, gracefully, like a fox hunter, 
and spoke to Bill as if he were his 

"Yes, a young gal for Three Pines, 
and thar is her trunk," and he tapped 
the top with the butt of his whip. 

*'She'll get out here," came back 
pleasantly, as he sprang lightly down, 
throwing his bridle to his companion. 

"Oh, she will? — wal, it's for her 
to say,'' said Bill, doggedly. "My con- 
tract was to kerry her to Three Pines, 
an' Fve got a habit o' carryin' out my 
contracks onless Providentially med- 
dled with." 

But the young man only smiled 
again, as he came forward saying: 

"Oh, that's all right, Bill, b.ut you 
see she's my niece come for a week's 
visit, and didn't know my lodge was 
between here and Three Pines." 

"Oh," said Bill, "now that ar's dif- 
ferent an' so on an' so forth, but I 
give mv word an' it's up to the 

The girl had awakened and sat stilly 
her heart thumping loudly at what 
she heard. And Condon, smiling and 
cool as he was, when he opened the 
door of the stage, flushed hot with 
guiltiness when he saw the searching 
flash of her first glance into his face. 
It was quick and decisive and then 
came a smile so quick and warming 
that he felt safe in saying : 

"I am so glad to welcome you to 
the lodge, my dear Janette." And he 
held out his hand to help her. 

She took them both with a frank, 
well-bred cordiality and sprang out, 
looking searchingly into his face 
again, then she flushed and said qui- 

"You are exactly like your picture, 

'even in your mining suit. I am so 

glad. Am I, indeed, welcortie? — for 

it's the first time — you know — I — ever 

— was — away — from papa — " 

It was too much for her, keyed as 
she was. She broke half way, hys- 
terically, trembled and collapsed. He 
caught her quickly. 

"Cond — Cond — here! I brought 

the brandy — let me help you!" his 
companion whispered at his elbow. 

Condon was agitated — terribly— 
for him, for she lay limp on his shoul- 
'Icr, 1 cr hair in his face and sobs 
sh(;(ik her. 

"i\ow, now — you're all right now; 
don't cry, little girl — er — er — Miss — " 

"Jenny," she whispered, ceasing to 
sob and looking up at him with eyes 
that sent the blood purpling to his 

"Can you — will you — be kind to 
me? Papa, you know, — " she shook 


'You will never regret my meeting 
you, my dear — indeed, you will not," 
he said. "You are tired now and un- 
strung. But the two-mile ride will 
fix you — can you ride? Our moun- 
tain roads — " 

"Oh, can I?" and the tears gave 
way to a rippling, joyous, schoolgirl 
laugh. "And have you horses, too — 
way out here? Oh, Mr. Mcintosh — " 

"Just call me Uncle Tom — for the 
l^rcscnt — please,'' he whispered quick- 
ly — as he glanced at Red Bill, taking 
it all in with undisguised glances of 

"Oh, Uncle Tom — of course — you 
are the very image of your picture, 
and I should have known you any- 
where — and — I like that hat and suit 
better than the silk hat." 

He had thrown her lightly to the 
saddle, and from the way she settled, 
he knew she Jiad a hunter of her own 
at home. 

"Oh, what a jolly change — to ride 
home over thc,se glorious mountains 
instead of being cooped up in that old, 
— oh, pray forgive me, Mr. Red Bill," 
and she rode up tp the boot and gave 
him her hand with such a pretty grace 
that Bill forgot all else. "And you 
have been so kind to me. But, you 
see, I am so happy in seeing Uncle 
Tom," and she laughed gaily. 

"Sorry to part with you, mum, 
danmed sorry," said Bill feelingly — 
"for we don't see yo' stripe o' cattle 
in these parts often. Now Cap'n Con- 
don, thar — " 

Digitized by 




She turned quickly and a wjive of 
terrifying doubt crossed her pretty 

"He means me, ma'am," whispered 
the surgeon hastily, at her stirrup, 
and thumping his chest vigorously for 
identification. "I am Captain Con- 

"Oh," she said, her eyes gladdening 

Then he turned quickly to Condon 
and whispered : 

"Say, Cond, old boy, did you hear 
that? Now, if you want really to be 
that uncle — why — here's me — Captain 
Condon— you know — no kin to her — 
entirely free — you see — don't give fne 

He stopped. She had ridden up to 
them, flushed and quiet. Condon 
stepped to meet her and — 

"Will you now take this, please. 
Uncle Tom?" She handed him a 
pearl-handled pistol which she took 
from her bosom. "I will not need it 
now — it — it was to — if you had not 
been as you said — if you had deceived 

He took it quickly. "You can trust 
me," he said, simply. 

Her trunk had been put into the 
wagon and they rode off, she throw- 
ing back a. kiss to Red Bill, which 
completely unsettled him for the drive 
to Three Pines. 

Into the night she rode — Hke a lady 
of old — two knights by her side and a 
servant behind. 

The lodge lay in a pretty plateau, a 
rude, picturesque house of great hewn 
logs, one story, but abounding in 
rooms. The chimneys w^ere of huge 
boulders, square and strong. Beyond 
them, in the background, rose peak 
after peak, and below was the valley, 
deep almost to canyon depths, a 
branch of the Gila winding like a tube 
of mercury through its sides of snow. 

Hounds met them at the door, and 
horses neighed in the stables nearby — 
sounds which made the girl rider feel 
homesick in their naturalness. 

The large hall was decorated with 
guns and the trophies of the chase, 

and everywhere were evidences of 
bachelor dom in comfort. 

But a greater and more homelike 
surprise greeted Jenny. At the door 
of the lodge, in welcome, stood a 
black figure in spotless bandanna and 

"It's my old cook," said Condon, 
"who is also my lodge keeper." 

"Mammy, you may welcome my 
niece, who has come to visit us — and 
remember, she is your especial 

"This is too good to be true, Uncle 
Tom, — " and she hugged the old 
woman impulsively while the black 
face glowed with smiles of welcome. 

Silver Lodge never had so beauti- 
ful a picture as the supper table 
showed that night. 

"Cond, old man," said the surgeon, 
as they smoked after supper, "did you 
ever see anything so queenly? Some 
people are born lucky — shy, but it 
hits us hard now and then — and I was 
thinking just now, seeing her pour the 
tea with the grace born of many gen- 
erations of it — say, but I was thinking, 
Cond, if it made no particular dif- 
ference to you, you know — you quiet 
old bachelor — set in your ways — one 
of which, old man, you know, has 
been never to marry, you know — . 
Now, as I was saying — if, since it 
makes no difference to yon, you might 
play that uncle game right on to a 
finish and — and — just let me be Cap- 
tain Condon, you know — rescuing her 
from that cut-throat, and so forth and 
so on, you know?" 

Condon flushed and lan,c:hed. and 
for the first time in his life, he felt, 
in the quick chagrin of such happen- 
ings, that this girl, who now held the 
lodge, held also a strange new place 
in his heart. Like the old shepherd 
watchers of the fold bv night, into 
whose vision had suddenly come a 
new planet, his heart heat with the 
glory of his discovery, and, like them 
of old, he wonld gladlv have sat up 
and watched her all night. For her 
beauty, her well-bred ways, her cheer- 
fulness and her sweetness held hini 

Digitized by 

Google I 


peculiarly. She had no secrets from How beautiful she looked in her 

hinr — no uncertainties. She had come light silk gown, her hair massed low 
there to marry him. She was a lady on her neck — tall, splendid, a woman 

Digitized by.VjOOQlC 



"Pleasant dreams, my dear/' he 
said, rising again, "and you must call 
on Mammy to help you — she has for- 
gotten much in this strange country." 

She glanced up shyly. What an 
air he had, and how self-possessed! 

"But — I wanted to talk to you some 
—as I always did to papa — and do 
you know you so remind me of him ?" 

She pulled her chair up closer. 

"I wanted to thank you again for 
not deceiving me and yet I felt — I 
knew from your picture and letters 
that you were incapable of deception." 

"I thank you, Jenny," he said, ten- 
derly. He looked across the room — 
Surgeon Val had prudently departed. 

"Do you know," he went on, "that 
I am not at all disappointed in you 
either — really, little girl — really, if I 
had had the making of you, not one 
change would I make." 

She clapped her hands with girlish 

"Oh, isn't It good of you to say 
that— isn't it too romantic — and you 
really think I am — am — all you could 
wish for?" 

"The most beautiful, glorious crea- 
ture I have ever beheld," he said gal- 
lantly — and then flushed to his ears 
at his first love w'ords to any woman. 

"Oh, — " and she clasped her hands 
again, while her eyes shone. Silence. 
Then — 

"Do you remember the first letter 
you wrote me, after I answered your 
advertisement, the night I first heard 
that papa was going to — " 

She got no further. She had her 
head on !iis arm again, and he was 
stroking her hair, a great love and 
pride swelling within him and a ten- 
derness he had never known before. 

"Don't cry, sweetheart," he looked 
around again — and his heart beat 
wildly— but Surgeon Val was not in 

She looked up through her tears, 

"You must call me Jenny, now" — 
she said shyly — "it is not proper to 
call me that until — until—" 

Never in his life had he thought 
so little of himself. Perhaps she did 

not care for him. The thought of it 
sent queer, reckless, maddening feel- 
ings through him. 

"But those letters," she went on — 
"oh, they were beautiful! I have 
every one of them and the picture. 
Do you carry mine around with you as 
I carry yours? It is silly of me — I 
know you will think so, — but, in that 
awful, stuffy little hotel at Silver City, 
last night — oh, I was so lonely I could 
not sleep until — until — I put your pic- 
ture under my pillow — " 

She burned crimson, but he reached 
and took her hand. He determined to 
make a clear breast of it all. . 

"No — no — " she said primly — "not 
my hand — not yet — " 

"My God, Jenny, child — I fear I 
have made a terrible mistake — I — " 

She drew back hastily and a silent 
terror began to creep into her eyes. 

"I — ought not to have tried to take 
your hand — I mean — Jenny, I — " 

"Oh," she smiled— "well— youVe 
forgiven this time, naughty boy. But 
answer my question : Do you care for 
the picture I sent you — the one in 
tlie Juliet costume? Oh, we girls had 
a lovely plav and I was Juliet." She 
sighed. "They are broken hearted to- 
night that I have run away — and Miss 
Cooper — oh, that poor old soul is dis- 
tracted, I know. I can see the tele- 
grams that have flown between her 
and papa — but it was — that — or — " 

He let her talk on — it held him. 
* Never had anything like this glorious 
creature come into his earnest, work- 
ing life before. Never — and he loved 
her — loved her! He felt it in every 
pulsation of his heart. 

"Where is it, sir? Now where is 
my picture?" she asked saucily. "I 
have looked in all the rooms I might 
go in and it's not in a single one — 
this nor the library — " 

A great twinkle crept into the dark 
of her eyes. She drew from her 
bosom a picture, blushing prettily as 
he took it. 

One glance was enough — it was 
he — taken at Three Pines a year be- 
fore, by a Jocal photographer, who 
had proudly used it as a trade-mark 

Digitized by 




to hang in the window of his gallery 
until he had left between two suns. 

''Where is mine — honor bright, sir? 
You cannot deceive your future wife, 
and you a Virginian, too." 

But he did — the first time in his 
Hfe — so strange are the perfidies 
which love puts into men's hearts. He 
looked her in the eye and said: "It 
IS hanging where I can see it the first 
thing every morning." 

She was satisfied — she laughed hap- 
pily and then sighed, dreamily : 

"Now I'm going to Mammy and to 
bed. But before 1 go 1 am going to 
read that beautiful letter again — the 
one about my eyes looking so like 
Idaho stars above the snow-lit plains 
at night — and my face — so fair --like 
the mountains covered with snow — 
and my hair — was — was — the trailing 
mist of the morning rising from the 
canyons of the river bed — oh, it was 
all so beautiful — so poetical! How 
beautifully you do wTite — and — and — 
after we are married — you will not 
stop — writing them. Oh, you will 
not ! You will go down the mountain 
and make believe you have gone, and 
write to me again that way every 

He swore vehemently that . he 
would ! 

"Now ril kiss you good-night," she 
said shyly, looking around. She did, 
and his face paled like a snow-capped 
mountain, then iLimcd as wdien the 
volcano's breath comes up again. 

"V'al," he said when the surgeon 
came in — "was ever a man in such a 
fix? You can guess what that cut- 
throat has done, can't you?" 

"Yes, but say, old boy, now seri- 
ously — don't bother about that — real- 
ly I am not joking — " 

"Why, you everlasting fool," cried 
the other hotly — "don't you see — 
can't you see Tm crazy about her, and 
she — why, Yal. she said herself she'd 
die if I deceived her. So hush up 
with that silly talk." 

"Oh, well," said V^al, sulkily, "if 
you're going to marry her of course 
that settles it." 

"No, it does not settle it. Why, 

Val, do you think Yd be such a dog 
as to marry her without her father's 
consent? I have wired her father, 
Judge Randolph, to come and get 
her," was Condon's reply. 

Val arose : "Well, I'm thinking I'm 
not the only fool. But I'm thinking, 
too, that that doesn't end it." 

"What?" from Condon, coolly. 

"Why, when Red Bill gets to Three 
Pines and tells his tale, there'll be 
trouble ahead for us w'ith that half- 
drunk band of devils. You'll have 
trouble with Mack." 

Condon arose and lit his cigar. 

"I have thought of all that," he 
said, slowly. "But when I sent John 
in with the telegram I sent word to 
Garza, the operator, to send out the 
reply as soon as it comes, and the 
news has already leaked out, I'm sure. 
So that, betw ecu their knowledge that 
her father's coming for her and^he 
respect her picture created that night 
— you remember — I don't believe 
Mack can get up very many followers. 
Of course, if worse comes to worst, 
we'll do our best to continue to pro- 
tect the little girl." 

"Of course we will — you can just 
count on me right with you all the 
time." The surgeon spoke with feel- 
ing and grasped his friend's hand. 
Both looked up as Mammy came tip- 
ping softly from the girl's room. 

"One thing more, Val," hastily whis- 
pered Condon, "if anything does hap- 
pen to me — if you're the one that 
liands her to her father — promise me 
not to let her know the fate from 
which we saved her — the realization 
of it would kill her." 

For the next two days Jenny took 
charge of things in Silver I odge, and 
went in for an old Virginia Qiristmas 
Never had she been so happy, she de- 
chred : never could she have been so 
beautiful, the others thought. There 
was a delicious odor mingled with the 
red cedar in the huge logs of the hall 
— of fruit cake and burnt almonds and 
nutmegs. Once or twice Condon 
caught sight of pretty bared arms, 
where her sleeves were rolled up, and 
a big apron coming (iown over everv- 

Digitized by 




thing except the high-born face and 
the coil of exquisite auburn hair, 
rolled splendidly above and crowning 

"But you must stay on your own 
side — you two," she would add sauci- 
ly, when they were unable to resist 
longer and peeped, "for Mammy and 
I are going to surprise you with a 
real Qiristmas/' 

After that he smelt only the Christ- 
mas odors when he came in from the 
mines at night, and with the tangible 
odors came the intangible thing 
which he knew was love. There was 
no need trying to conceal it longer — 
he loved her — and she saw and knew, 
but not from word of his. And the 
knowing made her more beautiful. 

So completely and artlessly did the 
girl enter into her new life that when 
she had been three days in the house 
she seemed a component part of it, 
and her pretty airs of assured posses- 
sion made Condon's heart leap with 
the hope of happiness to come. 

"Jenny," he said, as they sat at 
breakfast the day before Christmas, 
"I'm obliged to go into Three Pines 
to-day — you don't mind staying here 
alone wdth old John and Mammy, do 



She looked at him archly. 

"Why of course not — Fll be too 
busy with my Christnias cakes and my 
wedding cake." Again she smiled 
brightly. "I think you're a mind read- 
er, Tom, for I was thinking only last 
night that I would like to be married 
on mother's wedding anniversary — 
you know I've told you of her sudden 
and romantic marriage at a Christmas 
house party. Papa — " 

She could go no farther and Con- 
don soothed her until she looked up 
smiling again. 

"Now I must hurry off, little girl. 
Be happy and don't be surprised at 
what to-day brings." 

He spoke lightly, but his heart was 
heavy. He knew she thought his er- 
rand was for the marriage license, and 
he could not tell her that John's daily 
trip to town .had brought no reply 

from her father, and that he suspected 
Garza of withholding it at the in- 
stance of Idaho Mack. He shuddered 
at the thouo^ht of the cowboy's trick, 
and placed his hand protectingly upon 
the auburn head. 

"Tom," she said, earnestly, "I can't 
tell you how glad I am that I an- 
swered your advertisement and that 
you are — you. But even if you had- 
n't been the one that wrote the let- 
ters I should have loved you anyway 
— because you are you." 

She raised licr face to his and 
kissed him swiftly, yet shyly. 

He rode out into a fierce storm, but 
it burned hot in his heart all day. 

When the tw^o men rode into Three 
Pines there were ominous signs 
which were easily interpreted — heads 
poked stealthily from doorways, and 
cow'boys who looked but said nothing. 

This was the unwritten sit^nal of 
the street fight, and they knew and 
rode on, each shiftinc:^ his pistol where 
it had settled too deep into its holster. 
They went throui^h to the heart of 
things, and soon had sentiments their 
way. For Three Pines had its own 
sense of justice; artd w^hen it was 
whis])cred around that Condon had 
interfered with no man's love affair 
honestly made, but had given an in- 
nocent girl a square deal, all but three 
of the most desperate friends of Mack 
deserted the maddened and threaten- 
ing co\vl)oy. Condon pushed it even 
to a finish — for he knew it was the 
only way to make his victory com- 
j)lete — and at the first o])portunity he 
pur])osely walked into the circle of 
Slack's deadly, malicious eyes, gleam- 
ing from the half-caste face, now 
reckless with much drink. 

The crowd instantly scattered and 
there tVll that silence that presaged 
the vol!cv of the storm. Both men 
stood with their hands on their pis- 
tols and neither spoke. Then, for the 
first time. Mack knew the difference 
between courage that is born and 
courage that is made, for the quick, 
blue eyes of the American looked him 
to a deadly finish. Slowdy Mack's 

Digitized by 




black eyes wavered before the cool, 
blue ones, and then he sneered, in 
sheer bravado: 

"An' has Cap'n Condon any objec- 
tion to my bein' his nephew?" 

"Most decidedly, sir — for even if 
the lady had not been deceived and 
were willing, in the state she hails 
from they do not permit whites and 
mixed breeds to intermarry." 

Of all things, the cowboy loves wit 
which is backed by a cool head, and 
in the shout which greeted them from 
those who heard, Mack turned and 
walked away. 

"We will drink to my niece's good 
health, gentlemen," said Condon, gra- 
ciously turning to the laughing, ad- 
miring crowd which now surrounded 
him, and in the line-up he knew Three 
Pines was for him. 

"But you'd better watch him, Cap- 
'n," said the tall one who had first 
seen the picture passed around by 
Mack — "he's a rattlesnake in August 
now — blind mad." 

Three Pines had a sense of morality 
— rough as it was; for Three Pines 
had mothers and children. 

So the Countess dwelt apart, a mile 
away in a mountain-walled spot, made 
beautiful — sacredly beautiful by Na- 
ture, who makes the world beautiful 
for all and knows no Magdalenes. 

The Countess had built her home 
there and had turned the glory of 
nature into gaudiness — that coat of 
arms of the impure everywhere. 
Alone, except for the society of the 
men who. frequented her bar and 
gambling tables, she had tried to atone 
to her heart burnings with gilded 
luxury and had pocketed the means 
eagerly by every avenue that vice 
finds to spend it. 

It was Christmas Eve night. For 
days she had thought of Condon, of 
the young girl he had saved. Oh, 
if she could only be with that kind 
for awhile! Her bar was full to- 
night. It was her busiest day, but in 
her mood — that terrible, strange 
mood that had come over her of late. 

she could not run her faro tables. At 
one of them, alone, she sat. And now 
and then the burning in her heart 
leaped into a sob in her throat, as she 
thought of other Christmas Eves in 
her life. Then she had been hippy 
and poor, but — "now, now," she cried, 
"I have riches and am — nothing- 
nothing! It's all hell— hell— that's 

She arose and looked around, wip- 
ing her eyes. Was it she doing this— 
the . Countess of Monte Faro, — on 
this, her most profitable night? But 
something within her now scorned 
profit, something within her heart, 
gnawing at her heart roots — roots she 
thought had long ago perished, and 
that is what surprised her most of all. 
Were they revived? Was it all 
brought back — those other days when 
she could go with her kind and be 
one of the social world ? Was all this 
yearning and longing, this memory 
wave of remorse brought back by a 
gentleman lifting his hat and address- 
ing her with respect? 

She walked to a little corner and 

washed her face and powdered it, 

'looking into the little bit of mirror 

there. Then she walked boldly back 

into the barroom. 

It was full, and the noise and oaths 
she had heard so often now struck 
strangely at cross-points to her soul. 
They saw her and now it ceased for a 
moment as a tree of chattering black- 
birds when the hawk darts from the 
blue. For the Countess was a hawk 
to them always, and sometimes in her 
mood, not a beautiful one. 

She walked behind the bar and 
pulled open the cash drawer. It was 

"Hell-dollars," she sniffed and 
closed it. Then came a chorus: 

"Hello, Countess! — thought you'd 

A half -drunk, handsome cowboy 
reached over the bar and pinched, 
playfully, her arm. She turned on 
him blazing: 

"Don't you do that ag'in, Jack— 
don't you dare to te'ch me." 

She looked appealingly— defiantly 

Digitized by 




— at the crowd — some of them trying 
to catch her hand. 

"Gents, please respect me — for 
God's sake respect me !" 

"Oho," yelled the handsome one — 
"Had a change of heart to-day?" 

The roar of loud mirth which fol- 
lowed this came with a strange thing 
to her — a blush. 

"Oh, God," she breathed, looking 
quickly up and seeing and hearing not 
the noise around her — "Oh, God, 
maybe IVe got a chance yet— oh, God, 
let me blush ag'in !" 

She stood amid the oaths and jeers 
and foul language, clutching the cash 
drawer, praying and crimson. Never 
had she felt this way, never so up- 
lifted — so proud — to know that she 
could blush: "Oh, God," she kept 
saying — "Oh, Gk>d that I have trod on 
and spit on — let me blush ag'in." 

Then she turned to her barkeeper : 
"You'll attend to things to-night, 
Ikey — IVe got to go home." 

"You do look kind o' peakit, Coun- 
tess," he said — "maybe you'd better 
go home and rest. I'll tend to things." 
He flung it at her — not unkindly- 
shooting his remarks over his shoulr 
der, between the setting up of glasses 
and the noisy clamors of the bar. 

She opened the cash drawer again. 
It had never been so full, but she took 
out only a pearl handled revolver, 
and with a little reckless flourish, she 
thrust it into her bosom. 

They glanced at her inquiringly, 
and the blackbirds saw the hawk 
again, and ceased their chattering, for 
there had been strange tales about 
the Countess whenever she handled 
that pistol, and early in her career at 
Three Pines there had been a duel to 
death between her and a Spanish 
grandee, — shot out between the walls 
of her room. And it had been the 
Spaniard whom they had buried. 

"Nothin* serious, gents," she smiled 
— a faint imitation of her old way — 
"Pm going home and it's a long walk 
an' — ^an' — lonesome." At the door she 
paused and waved her hand : 

"Good night, gents — Ikey — all — ^be 
good an' a merry Christmas !" 

She had put on her rich sealskin 
cloak. It fell to her heels. Above it 
the long ostrich plumes of her big 
hat trembled, and she stalked out in 
her old way — out until she knew they 
saw her no longer. Then the stage 
way left her — the strut — the uplifted 
head. The plumed hat sank to the 
collar of her great cloak, the shoul- 
ders stooped, the back bent under and 
she slouched along, heartbroken. 

Never in the history of Three Pines 
had it been so cold. The mountain 
peaks stood out frozen and white and 
the garish snow flooded them all with 
double emphasis. 

She reached tlie small gate that was 
her own. There she stopped, for in 
the snow, huddled, fallen, was a dark 
bundle. In an instant she was on her 
knees and saw it was a human form. 
She glanced at the face — the finely 
turned mouth and chin — the beautiful 
curve of the check — the innocence. 

"I knew — " she said, "I kind o' felt 
it. Idaho Mack has been away all af- 

She took a flask from her pocket 
and held it to the girl's lips, holding 
her all the time as she would her own 
child. And somehow it soothed her so 
to hold her — this beautiful creature 
in the world not of her own world. 

"Why — oh, I am so cold — I — oh, 
where — " 

"Right here all right — I've got you. 
Just another sip of this brandy, dearie 
—that's all right." 

She helped her up, then wrapped 
her rich, warm cloak around the shiv- 
ering form. 

"I ran away," the girl began, hys- 
terically. "I was at Silver Lodge, you 
know, and so happy until this after- 
noon. But it was a mistake — for an 
awful man came while he — you know 
— was away — and he had my picture 
and letters — I had come here to marry 
him, he said — and he was going to 
take me away. But it is not that — he 
— he — will despise me now — he can- 
not love me — and when the horrid 
man tried — O, I flew, and I have been 
so cold — your light — " 

Digitized by 




The woman still held her wrapped 

"I understand, dearie. Now don*t 
bother. I'll take care of you — you're 
safe. You'd have died here.'' 

"I thouglit I had — 1 wish I had. O, 
I do not care to live since he — do you 
— do you think he really cared for 

"ril just bet my socks he did," 
cried the Countess in a reckless dash 
of honest enthusiasm — "if he don't, 
he's a wooden Indian or a hog! I 
know him — he's a friend of mine and 
calls me madam and lifts his hat. You 
bet he's up to any skin game that 
kyote— " 

*'Oh — oh," gasped the girl, startled 
and pulling away — "who — w^ho — are 

"Me, child?" she laughed bitterly — 
throwing back her head, "I'm the 
Countess of Monte Faro, an' that's 
my castle we're going to. Come on 
now — you're cold — come dearie — I'll 
take care of you and send you to your 

The girl hesitated and looked at her 
queerly, but the woman half carried, 
half drew her along. 

There were songs and loud laughter 
from the parlor. The Countess' face 
grew pale with shame as she called: 

**Lady Clara, — here — help me!" 

A woman in a gorgeous silken ki- 
mona came out. 

"This is Lady Clara de Vere, dear- 
ie. Lady Clara, take her quickly — to 
my room — through the side hall — 
quick !'* 

But the woman was not quick 
enough. A man came out in the hall. 

"O, Countess — so glad to see you 
again — Lord, what a peach !" 

The Countess drew herself up: 

"The Duke of Clarence, dearie," 
she said apologetically — "drunk and 
wants to marry me — always does 
when he's drunk. In there, Lady 
Clara, take her in there!" and she 
closed the door of her room on the 
two women and turned facing the 
man, with a strange, mad light in her 

"Say, Countess, I never saw you 

look more like th^ real thing — oh, an* 

that peach! — " 

He jumped back frightened, nor 
could he tell which shone the brighter, 
the light in her eyes or the gleam of 
a pearl-handled pistol pointed at his 


"Mv God, Countess!" 

"Git— an' git fast." 

"Lord, certainly — what do you 

He was ashen, for he suddenly re- 
membered that he had been one of 
the pall -bearers when they buried the 

"This is my castle now — and it 
holds a jewel — so move." 

He put on his coat and hat, but the 
[)istol made him nervous, still pointed 
at his head. 

"Be sensible, Countess — point it 
down a little," he said as he backed 
out — "it might go off. I didn't know 
she was your daughter." 

The woman did not reply nor did 
she lower the weapon. As she opened 
the door for him she said, queerly: 

"Now you be sure to tell 'em — all 
of 'em — that henceforth this is my 
castle — the Countess' castle. Tell 'em, 
the men below, that they have made a 
law for themselves — that a man may 
protect his castle with his life. Ain't 
a w^oman's soul more than a man's 
castle, hey ? An' say, you tell 'em that 
if any of 'em come up here agfin, 
they'd better holler first at the gate or 
they may get a shower o' melted lead 
from the parapets. Do you ketch on 
Jimmy, my dear?" 

"I'm landed, Lady Marmion, yo' 
highness," he said backing down the 
steps, "an' you bet I'll tell the boys 
so none of 'em'll try to come up before 
the moat is full an' the scalin' ladders 
is up. So — so — Countess!" 

It was Christmas morning, and the 
sun shone in the garish glare of snow, 
and the intense atmosphere of the 
mountains, with a dazzling glory bom 
of the day. It streamed in slanting 
rays through the Countess' blinds. 

Digitized by V^OOQlC 



through lace curtains and over pat- 
terns of gaudy Brussels. 

The Countess peeped into the room 
early and often, at the girl sleeping 
soundly in the luxurious bed in the 
corner — she could not stay away. The 
woman's face wore a strange, happy 
smile. In her soul was the loftiness 
of motherhood, in that one was now 
under her care whom she loved to 
think was as her own child. She 
wanted to see the pretty sight — to feel 
the motherhood of Christmas again 
when the girl awoke. 

"You just ought to feel like I feel, 
Lady Clara — that little thing over 
there — she done it all — she an' him 
that called me madam. Look at the 
innocent little thing. If I could only 
keep her here !" 

There was much slipping and glid- 
ing about by the Countess and Lady 
Clara and manv sly glances of moth- 
erly solicit^: !j toward the big bed, 
and many extravagant whispers as to 
the beauty and simple faith of the di- 
vine creature who, believing the word 
of the Countess, had gone to bed with 
a happiness that was almost hysteri- 
cal, coming as a reflex to the bitter 
awakening of that day. 

They Iiad soothed and petted her — 
they themselves would take her back 
to Virginia the next day. And then 
they had had such a Christmas night, 
—such carols by their guest, on the 
Countess' grand piano — the first time 
it had ever been touched by the hand 
of a real artist. For the Countess had 
bought it as she had bought every- 
thing else around her — not for cause 
but for effect. 

And after the girl had said her 
Christmas prayers, for herself and for 
them, there fell upon these fallen 
women a sweetness that brought 
tears. And the girl had kissed them 
and slept. After she was asleep, the 
Countess, who could not sleep for 
happiness, had peeped in again and 
then she came away to Lady Clara 
flushed, laughing, excited : 

"Come, Lady Clara — my goodness, 
I've got the boss plan! Let's* hang 
up the little one's stocking!" 

They slipped noiselessly in and 
Lady Clara tittered and the two stood 
gi§^gli"g a"<^ punching each other. It 
was all so strange and sweet, and the 
joy of it went through them until 
somehow they found themselves each 
alone and on her knees and praying, 
and with it came the smell of the holly 
of long ago. 

Then they filled the stocking, and 
such presents ! Gold, a handful in the 
toe of it — laces that a princess might 
have owned and many rare things 
she had found to buy, such as a wom- 
an with more money than morals fan- 
cied. And filling the top, overrun- 
ning until it fell in rainbow splendor 
to the floor itself, was the rare opal 
necklace the Spaniard had given her, 
opal after o])al, strung on a golden 
thread and between the opals, beads 
of purest diamonds — a necklace 
which, it had been said, the grand 
dames of Spain had worn for half a 
thousand years. 

And now, in the morning, with her 
heart still full of it all, she kept peep- 
ing in to see if the girl had awakened, 
for she wanted to see her when she 
spied the necklace and she wanted to 
hear her carols again. 

The awakening was diflferent from 
what she had hoped, however, for 
suddenly the front door was broken 
in with an oath and a crash and when 
she ran to the front hall, there stood 
Idaho Mack, in the ravings of a 
Christmas drunk, with a cruel light 
in his eyes. He looked at her savagely 
as she stood before the door to her 

"You posin' she-devil — she's mine 
an' I'm goin' to have her" — and he 
came at her, drawing his knife from 
his belt. Then all the sweetness w^ent 
out of the woman's face, and as she 
stood breathless and terribly white, 
her hand slipped into her bosom and 
something flashed into Idaho Mack's 
face, — so close and hot that the pow- 
der grains went wnth the ball into his 
brain and he went down into the 
Great Darkness in a limp heap at her 
feet. Then the spirit of hell seemed 
to go into her — so terribly cool and 

Digitized by 




with such cruel exultant joy she did 
it, — daintily lifting her skirts and 
thrusting out a slippered foot, with 
the toe of it she turned the dead face 
up full to the light — gloatingly — while 
his last breath went shivering out into 
thin air. Then she threw a hand- 
some rug over the dead form lying in 
the hall, and turned to Lady Clara, 
who stood there in pale numbness : 

"The law of man is a life for a life, 
but the law of woman is a soul for 
a soul." 

Then she opened the door of her 
room to find the girl sitting up, fright- 

"Good morning, dearie. Did you 
hear the giant cracker we fired off to 
celebrate your Christmas morning.'* 
Look!" and smilingly she pointed to 
the stocking. 

"O Countess — Countess," she cried, 
and sprang from the bed, pulling out 
the pretty things as a child would — 
"not — O not for me 1" But the Coun- 
tess only laughed hysterically and 
flung the necklace of opals and dia- 
monds over her shoulders, where it 
gilded her down-falling hair as the 
red stars of the West at deep twilight 
around the peaks of the Magellan. 

Later, when the two women had 
dressed her as if they had been her 
handmaidens and she a queen, there 
came the sound of galloping horses, 
crunching through the snow. He 

came in, a bitter pallor in his face and 
a terribly stern glance for the woman 
who met him at the door. Nor did the 
sight of the girl who came to him 
with outstretched hands of forgive- 
ness move him, until the woman said : 

"I found her senseless in the snow, 
and as pure as the snow I give her 
back to you. I have taken the soul of 
a man to save the soul of a woman — " 
and she pointed to the form beneath 
the rugs. 

Then he folded the girl, sobbing, 
to his breast, saying: "It is all right, 
little one, — and I have loved you from 
the first, only I must wait for your 
father, who will be here to-day and 
will take yoU to your home." 

But she clung to him close — sob- 

"Oh, no — not unless you go — ^no — 
no — for I know you love me now. I 
understand it all." 

He put her on her saddle horse — 
he and the gallant surgeon, and when 
she had kissed the two women for the 
last time and was off, they stood 
watching her with longing eyes, weep- 
ing and all broken up. 

"I am going, too," said the Coun- 
tess, "me and Lady Clara — ^back to 
the Christmas of our better selves — 
back to the sweetness again." 

And they closed the door of the 
house of shame and locked and left 
it forever — left it with the dead man 
who had been its architect and maker. 

Digitized by 


las Canticle 

on Scollard 

Hear the Christmas song ascend,- 

Te Deum LaudamusI 
Souls in adoration bend; 
(Glory 1 glory with 
Guard us! Be oui 

Te Deum Lauda) 

Up the transept, dc 
Te Deum Laudai 
Hark to the exulta 
Buoying us above 
Thou wilt sanctify 
, Te Deum Lauda\ 

When the bass an( 

Te Deum Laudai 
To our thralled ?a 
Rapture^s apotheosi 
Lift us to celestial 

Te Deum Lauda\ 

Digitized by 



Photo by Thus8 r. a. BARR, JR. 


Digitized by 



Harrlman, Tennesseo 

Digitized by 



Photo by Turner, Nashville MARY ELLA HARRIS 

Tuscaloosa, Alabama 

Digitized by 



THomasYllle, Georgia 

Digitized by 



Digitized by 



Warren, Arkansas 

Digitized by 




Photo by Brinkley 

Oxford, North Carolina 

Digitized by 



By Marie Bankhead Owen 

— 5^ 

'^:^,^ VERY member of the 
.<v.\>*^ House was in his 
seat when the chap- 
lain oflFered prayer, 
except the veteran 
who was diumally 
tardy, thereby win- 
ning the sobriquet of 
"the late Mr. 
Dobbs." Every man 
was on the qui vive 
except the small coterie composing 
the speaker's confidential advisers. 
The reason was self-evident. The 
committee assignments were to be an- 

Dave Mehan's name was read sec- 
ond on the Committee on Taxation 
and Special Exemptions. Dave had 
confidently expected the chairman- 
ship, but he hid his chagrin behind a 
roomy Irish smile and extended his 
right hand with frank cordiality to 
the successful appointee to the covet- 
ed chairmanship. 

The young member from Barbee 
had some neat work planned out on 
his legislative slate, and there were 
others, too, who were interested — 
men in the corridors, men in the bal- 
cony overlooking the House, men sit- 
ting in their offices a mile down town, 
their telephone connections made with 
the 'phone of the Committee room of 
Taxation and Special Exemptions, 
ready for the Secretary to report the 
list the very first instant their subsi- 
dized page could flit from the House 
after the names dropped from the 
reading clerk's lips. 

"That's a good committee, Mr. 
Smith." This from Dave to his suc- 
cessful opponent, a nod from his 

airly red head giving emphasis to 
his oral approval. "Hot stuff!" 

"If you mean it's hell, yes!" This 
unambiguous remark was made sotto 
voce over Dave's left shoulder by an 
ex-member who had the privilege of 
the floor for the day by request of 
"the gentleman from Barbee," Barbee 
being Dave's county, of course. 

"Good!" laughed Dave, who was 
the incarnation of the type all things 
to all men, "good!" This second en- 
dorsement came chucklingly as the 
two pals walked together to the rear 
of the hall. 

"If I'd been Middleton," (Middle- 
ton was the implacable, incorruptible, 
reticent speaker of the House) "I'd 
have put Smith of York about third 
on the committee on Ventilation and 
Acoustics where he would have been 
out of the way of progress. Let's see 
— name 'em over again." 

Dave took from his pocket an old 
envelope upon which he had penciled 
the committee as it was read out : 

"Smith of York, Mehan of Barbee, 
Jordan of Hoke, Gunby of Estill, Fre- 
mont of Jackson, Morrow of Qay, 
Sternberg of Floyd." 

"By God, if they ain't a mangy 
bunch for boodlers to handle ! They'll 
break us, Dave. There ain't a blamed 
one in the lot that'll cost us less than 
five thousand dollars. They are all 
gentlemen !" 

Dave's keen gray eyes rested re- 
flectively a moment on those of his 
companion, and then with the con- 
tempt of familiarity, he said: 

"I didn't know you were such a 
mutton-headed chump, Nick. I've al- 
ways understood that you got your 
start — ^and it's a good one by now, I 
happen to know — right here in this 

Digitized by 




House. But you are still a regular 

"Well, what do you calculate it will 
come to? Fm the treasurer of the 
lobby committee for our boys, and Td 
like to be given an idea, so I can lay 
out the assessments before the month- 
ly accounts are closed." 

"I agree with you that if we had 
to lay down the money it would about 
average your estimate, but let's see 
— ^what did you boys send me up here 
for, anyway — fresh air?" Dave led 
the way and Nicholas Williamson fol- 
lowed him into one of the little cup- 
boards in the off comers of the House 
designed for cloakrooms, and used 
also by gentlemen addicted to the 
soothing weed and the moist extract 
of com and rye. Once within the nar- 
row door that had for half a century 
closeted groups of cronies bent on in- 
trigue, pungent anecdotes, or ham- 
merfests, Dave and Nick settled down 
to business. 

"Now you fellows made the 
straight deal with me, didn't you?" 
asked Dave. "I was to get on this 
committee, to ask for nothing else and 
to get your industries exempted at all 
costs. I believe I'm quoting the 
spokesman of the stockholders cor- 
rectly. Well, here I've sat for two 
long weeks, my native wit in cold 
lorage, my Irish dander up to boiling 
heat half a dozen times, my palms 
fairly bruised with my clinched fists, 
and all because I am a man of honor. 
I keep my word. I promised to make 
no enemies, to pacify all opposing 
factions, to do my very level best to 
ingratiate myself with the new speak- 
er and his pals, and to hold my fiery 
tongue in due season. I've done all 
these things to the queen's taste, bc- 
gorry, and landed where? Second 
only!" Dave's pride was pinched; 

"Never mind, old boy, all is not 
lost. There are exigencies that arise 
in legislative life we wot not of until 
they are upon us. Be on the alert, 
and I am confident that you will land 
us. Sit steady in the boat and pull 
for the shore!" These reassuring 
words uplifted Dave's mercurial heart 

"Put her there!" he cried fratemaL 
ly, as he held out his hand. Together 
they settled down over the list 

"Smith of York," began Nick, 
"what of him?" 

"Ambition!" cried Dave, as he 
slapped his thigh vigorously, "ambi- 
tion ! We'll handle him for guberna- 
torial timber. There is where his 
heart turns. Smith's vain, too, and as 
credulous as all vain men are. Ill 
give him something like this." 

Dave, with fine mimicry of his own 
best manner and Smith's peculiari- 
ties of pose and facial expression, 
went through an incisive, imaginary 
dialogue that fairly choked his audi- 
tor with laughter and that at the same 
time appealed to his judgment be- 
cause of the plausibility of its logic 
and its sequence. 

"Yes, ambition is Smith's vulnera- 
ble heel. Put an arrow after Smith," 
added the young member soberly. 

"Jordan of Hoke," read Nick next 

"Oh, that won't be so difficult cith- 
er. Jordan is a cousin or step-cousin 
or something to that cotton Moses 
from over in Georgia, and he's all for 
the proposed regulation by the state 
of cotton exchanges. Introduced a 
bill first day to abolish them entirely, 
I think. I'll trade my influence on be- 
half of his pet when it gets on the 
floor, if he'll stand by me in commit- 
tee on mine. You see I'm instructed 
against bucket shops, any way, and 
so it's all right to trade with Jordan. 
Have another cigar. I wonder where 
that black rascal that cleans up in here 
has put the liquids. Oh, here they 
are under the prohibitionist's hat 
Some scamp's joke, I reckon." As 
the remaining half bottle of Pickett's 
Old Mill gurgled into a cloudy glass 
that reposed by the age-worn water 
cooler, the two men smiled genially 
and propMOsed broad toasts that were 
entirely irrelevant to the subject in 
hand. Wiping their mouths and clear- 
ing their stung throats, they settled 
back to the list. 

"Gunby of Estill!" 

As Nick pronounced the name 
Dave broke into a merry laugh. 

Digitized by 




"Gunby will cost us about one thou- 
sand dollars, and once in hand, he'll 
shoot any man we pick out He is 
cold, avaricious, ignorant, with the 
self-complacency of ignorance, one- 
idead and loyal. You know the t3rpe. 
He sits over on the left of old Sors- 
by of Colt, all nose — doesn't hear 
well, wears a sky-blue tie and a pink 
artificial carnation. He is a filler on 
the committee, but his vote is as good 
as Smith's. He's a cold, hard, materi- 
alist that calls for dough. Put him 
down at one thousand limit A thou- 
sand dollars will be wealth untold to 
him. He rooms in a second-class 
boarding house down on GofiF street 
and eats at a hot Charlie and a free 
lunch stand. Small potatoes and few 
to the hill. Check him oflf — ^at one 

"Fremont of Jackson." Nick's tones 
were honeyed and he stroked his black 
mustache aflfectionately. A contented 
smile played over his agreeable fea- 
tures. He saw money in his own 
pocket out of what Dave was saving 
the boys. 

"Fremont," mused Dave. "Well, 
Fremont is looking longingly towards 
the goddess of liberty on the Capitol 
dome in Washington." 
"Nope— Senate." 
"What will it cost us?" 
"That is contingent on the pres- 
sure we can bring to bear on the Gov- 
ernor. The job will be appointive, 
you know, dependent entirely on the 
threatened retirement of Senator 

"Not if he retires before the legis- 
lature adjourns." 

"Of course not, but he won't do 
that because he knows General Mc- 
Sawyer will be elected, and there is 
an old feud between them. It will be 
put up to the Governor. Now it 
grows complicated here. You'll have 
to follow me closely. The Governor 
has only two years in the chair. He 
doesn't desire the honor again, but 
he does aspire to the woolsack. He 
wants to be Chief Justice." Dave 
looked oracular. 

"Well?" This from Nick with di- 
lated nostrils scenting war afar oS. 

"You've got it, have you, that the 
Governor wants to be Chief Justice?" 

"Yepl It's here," thumping his 
black head. 

"Well! He isn't unmindful of the 
leveling influence of a good leader in 
some of the big counties. If I'm not 
mistaken, Stokes of Yancey is the big- 
gest man in the eastern half of the 
state. We'll get him to work on Fre- 
mont with the understanding that the 
Governor will appoint him, Fremont, 
to Spaulding's prospective vacancy in 
the U. S. Senate, if he votes with us. 
Stokes of Yancy will help the Gov- 
ernor in his fight for the Chief Jus- 
tice's place the coming campaign if 
the Governor will appoint Fremont" 

"Yes, that's clear to me, but what 
does Stokes of Yancy get out of it?" 

"Somewhere in the neighborhood 
of fifteen thousand. That comes out 
of the corruption fund. Buddy, the 
one you're totin' around in your 

"Dave, you will be president some 

"Of a life insurance company? 
Yes, I'm inclined to think my methods 
do incline in that direction." 

Mutual enthusiasm demanded more 
drinks. They discovered an unopened 
bottle beneath the head-rest of the 
lounge, and Dave proceeded to open 
it with the corkscrew that filled up 
the back half of his pocket knife. 
In due season they got down once 
more to their list. 

"Morrow of Qay," read the ex- 
legislator, as he sent the smoke of a 
fresh cigar curling, ring through ring, 
to the ceiling 

"Morrow is an osteopath. Had 
rheumatism last year, and got his leg 

"Literally or figuratively?" 

"Oh, both I reckon. Anyhow, he's 
got a bill up to license the osteopaths 
to practice in this state without hav- 
ing to pass examinations on medicine, 
which they don't use. Of course they- 
're looking for votes." 

"Yes, and so will you be looking 

Digitized by 




for them your next race if you get 
the medicos against you." 

"Oh, don't bother about that. The 
chairman of the Committee on Public 
Health is too keen to let the bill get 
off the calendar. I can safely swap 
pledges with Morrow. Besides, a fel- 
low can always get a call from the 
lobby if he wants to dodge a vote. 
Fve seen many a man get lost at the 
other fellow's psychological moment." 

"Sternberg of Floyd." 

Dave ran his fingers through his 
hair until it stood up straight for all 
the world like Sternberg's. 

"Sternberg takes his position very 
seriously, (^rman conscience. Near- 
ly as bad as a New England one — 
damnably uncomfortable for all par- 
ties." Dave pursed up his lips medi- 
tatively. There was a long silence in 
the little, smelly, smoky cupboard of 
a room. 

"No way to manage him except 
to hold our meetings when he is out 
of town or unless we can get him 
bamboozled with a few extra *hochs' 
to the Kaiser." 

The last name on the list was 
checked oflf. 

"My, my, but that does clear the at- 
mosphere some!" exclaimed Nick as 
he stretched his legs and soused his 
hands deep into his pockets. 

"Yes, someT replied his genial 
friend as they passed back into the 
House with tfie benign countenances 
of men fresh from a prayer meeting. 


To plan a campaign of conduct in 
legislative matters is one thing, to 
execute it, another. There are so 
many Scyllas one is liable to run into 
in avoiding Charybdis. The commit- 
tee on Taxation and Special Exemp- 
tions had had many meetings and 
much ground had been covered, but 
the interests over which Dave Mehan 
was patron saint had not been reached. 
His maneuvers were necessarily cau- 
tious. There was the public of his 
constituency — ^Dave aspired to the 
Senate next time — ^the law regulating 

. bribery, the anti-lobby law, the shift- 
ing of affiliations as members' inter- 
ests converged or diverged, his pledg- 
es to the manufacturers whose contri- 
butions enabled him to make a win- 
ning fight for his seat, his. struggles 
with himself to keep out of legislative 
squabbles of debate in which he saw 
unrecallable opportunities for oratori- 
cal fame slip from his grasp, and in 
which his young vanity strove with 
his prudence for an outlet of sarcasm 
and humor and logic that he knew 
would carry the House with him on 
those matters that really touched his 
human feelings. But alas for Dave! 
He sat mute and diplomatic, standing, 
in the minds of his legislative col- 
leagues, for nothing but a glad hand. 
When measures were up tihat would 
compromise his friendly relations with 
the several members of the Special 
Exemption Committee or their friends, 
even, he had to hike to the lobby at 
roll call or sit as silent as a turnip. 
Days and weeks passed. Every group 
of special interests had had its inning 
except those under the protecting 
guidance of the gentleman from Bar- 
bee. The last legislative week was 
upon them. Dave met Mr. Nicholas 
Williamson in the lobby. 

"Do you know that to-morrow is 
the last day you've got to get our bill 
out of Committee? Dave, you've 
played thunder waiting for an 'aus- 
picious moment' " 

Dave flared. "See here, Nick, I've 
done the best I could according to my 
judgment. Here you are all swelled 
up like a pizened pup, because I have- 
n't done the impossible for a bunch 
of skin-game robbers. How could I 
compel Smith to call up our crowd? 
I've done my durndest I" 

Poor Davel He was almost con- 
scientious and besides he was grow- 
ing testy under a realization that he 
was apt to have to face his exploiters 
under the charge of flunk. 

At this moment the House ad- 
journed and the members slowly de- 
bouched through the wide door into 
the rotunda. A telegraph messenger 
handed a yellow envdope to Mr. 

Digitized by V^OOQlC 



Smith of York, and Dave heard his 
Chairman tell his neighbor that he 
was called home by the illness of his 
wife, and giving him some hasty mes- 
sages to the speaker about certain 
bills on the calendar that must not be 
reached before he got back. He 
would proceed at once to call a meet- 
ing of the committee on Taxation and 
Special Exemptions. 

Fairly beaming on Nick who was 
still standing at his elbow, he said, 
triumphantly : 

"I think 'the hour and the man have 
met' once more in history. Just watch 
me. It's acting Chairman, I am, 
Nicky, old boy. Don't lose sight of 
me for a minute. Just watch me hus- 
tle! Say, Mr. Haywood, Ha)rwood, 
don't you room with Gunby of Es- 

"Yep," replied Haywood, as he 
pridefully gathered his copious red 
whiskers into the fond grasp of his 
big hairy hand, and stood blocking 
the way of the other departing mem- 
bers, who not too politely shoved by 
or impatiently stood waiting as hun- 
ger or manners prompted. 

"Well, you just tell Gunby for me 
that there is to be a meeting to-night 
of the Committee on Special Exemp- 
tions and that I'm to be acting Chair- 
man. Mr. Smith has just left for the 
train, called home by sickness in his 
family. At seven-thirty we'll meet in 
the private dining room of the Davis 
Hotel. My treat" 

"WeU, Mr. Mehan, I'm willin' t' 
'blege ye 'bout givin' th' word t' Gun, 
but Tx^ut two o'clock I left him fast- 
ened on t' one eend of er link sau- 
sage that 'uz 'bout er yard long. Ef 
he ain't swallered hit all, maybe I kin 
cut him erloose with this old jack- 
knife. I'll try t* enjuce him t' meet 
you'uns at the p'int set." 

"Oh, say there, Jordan ! Mr. Wash- 
by, please stop Jordan for me — ^he is 
talkmg with his committee secretary 
over there behind you! Yes, oh, — 
Mr. Jordan. Oh, say, Mr. Jordan, 
it's very important to have a brief 
meeting of the Committee on Special 
Exemptions to-night. Can't you — " 

"Awfully sorry, Mehan," broke in 
Jordan, "but I'm down to it with some 
fellows of tfie Cotton Association to- 

"Oh, but we're obliged to have you. 
I'm going to save time by having the 
meeting while we eat our supper. The 
treat's on me — private dining room of 
the Davis — seven-thirty. Can't you 
come? You know, old man, I had 
my senator stand up by your bill on 
the other side," jerking his thimib 
toward the upper brandi, "and you 
said I could call you when it came 
my turn." 

Dave's smile was glowing, irresisti- 
ble, and his strong white hand was on 
his companion's shoulder insistently, 
his deep voice was mellow and vibrant 
with good fellowship. 

"Thaf s so. Well, if you'll let me 
oflf at eight-thirty sharp I'll be with 

"All right, I'm Acting Chairman 
this deal, and so I'm kind o' celebrat- 
ing, you see. So long!" 

Jordan was a sucked orange for 
present purposes, and Fremont, Mor- 
row and Sternberg were each in turn 
button-holed as they passed into the 
outer corridor. Fremont had a box- 
party on, but could arrange over the 
'phone to join his friends at the thea- 
ter. Morrow had some country con- 
stituents on his hands, but thought he 
could plan a seance for them at the 
moving picture show under the chap- 
eronage of his stenographer. How- 
ever, at nine he had to meet with the 
Judiciary Committee and must leave 
Dave's supper by eight-forty-five 

Sternberg was obliged to be back 
at the capitol by nine as the Govern- 
or had set that hour to go over the 
new Immigration Bill with him. 
Sternberg possessed a foreign, for- 
mal dignity, and felt tremendously 
touched by an Executive recognition. 
He could not rid himself of the flunky- 
ism due the representative of power. 
He had also the foreigner's objec- 
tionable habit of a reserved opinion. 
He thought, subconsciously of course, 
that the Governor might be turning 

Digitized by 




him over in mind for the post of com- 
missioner. This would be g^eat news 
to write home to the old mother in 
the fatherland. Not for his right arm 
would he have been tardy a shade of 
a second at this executive audience. 

Dave hurried down the avenue to 
his hotel and made all arrangements 
for the supper and the meeting. The 
one thing, however, that disturbed 
him — ^and indeed it was a tremendous 
handicap to the possible fruition of 
his hopes — was the sad lack of time. 
What could be done in one hour? It 
was now or never, but how could in- 
terests representing millions be dis- 
posed of in such a little while? He 
stuck his finger in his vest pocket for 
his watch. // was gone! 

"Back up to the third floor," he 
said excitedly to the elevator boy. 
Alighting, he followed the retreating 
form of the slender, middle-aged man 
who had alighted from the little cage 
of the lift a moment before. 

"That's my man," Dave muttered, 
as he slipped his hand towards his 
hip pocket and fingered the cold little 
gun that reposed there. 

The retreating figure before him 
turned a corner and closed the door 
of room 320 behind him. The large 
brass key-plate dangled on the out- 
side. Dave softly turned the key, and 
placing his foot on the door-knob, 
pulled his body up by holding the 
door- facing until he could see through 
the transom. The light-fingered gen- 
tleman was making a close, critical, 
technical, analytical inspection of 
Dave's watch. 

"Drop it!" 

The voice came down on the thief 
with the sudden surprise of lightning 
out of a clear sky. Lifting his eyes 
quickly, he flinched before Dave's 
cocked gun. 

"Now, move a muscle and I'll lay 
you out in your tracks." Dave spoke 
rapidly but Jenkins looked down at 
his feet with a slow g^in. 

"They are some size, sir, but I don't 
believe they will hold my full height." 

"I suppose you realize the preca- 
riousness of your situation?" 

"I seem to be up against it, but I'll 
not do the baby act Come and get 
me." Jenkins' defiant bravado went 
for courage. 

"Do you know who I am?" 

"Sure! You're the Governor. I 
owe my information to your hand- 
some newspaper cuts." This resem- 
blance, not between the men, but of 
Dave to the Governor's newspaper 
picture, had frequently been noted by 
his acquaintances. "I've been wait- 
ing about the lobby a couple of even- 
ings waiting for you. 'A millionaire 
Governor ought to carry some valua- 
ble portable property around with 
him,' says I to myself, 'but since in- 
specting the goods I'm so ashamed of 
my lack of discrimination that I want 
to hide my mortification behind the 
jail door. Come on in and take me. 
It isn't every grafter that has the 
honor to be pulled by a Governor — 
that's some compensation. Even a 
thief has his vanities." 

The human nature of the fellow 
touched Dave's responsive heart, but 
he realized that time was precious. 

"Pass me over your gun and be 
careful of your gestures in the action. 
I'm liable to slip a trigger up here if I 
get excited. Butt foremost, please. 
Now, got any more? One at a time; 
thanks. Any other weapons?" 

"These." A pair of brass knucks 
followed the pistols. 

Jenkins heard the key turn and in 
another instant he faced his captor 
behind the dosed door. 

"Very neat 1" said the thief approv- 

"You're a likable sort of fellow," 
said Dave heartily, "barring your ac- 
quisitional accomplishments." 

"Yes, *a scion of one of the best 
families,' " quoted the culprit nimbly, 
"but alas, I'm sadly afflicted — I'm a 
kleptomaniac !" His acting was fault- 
less — eyes uplifted, hands wrung in 
simulated distress, voice a-quiver. 
Both men burst into laughter after an 
instant's pause. 

Dave looked serious in another mo- 
ment : "Do you know, my friend, I'm 
greatly tempted — '" 

Digitized by 




**To let me go? Oh, my dear, good 
Governor, do, do forgive me this one 
slight indiscretion. Remember my 
youth, my aged mother; remember 
my poignant pain!" He was point- 
ing towards Dave's cheap watch and 
wore every expression of real an- 

An idea had quickly flashed through 
his captor's brain. 

"Say, er— Mr.— " 

"Jenkins, at your service, Phil Jen- 
kins, known in Rogues' Gallery as 
'Philadelphia Jinks.'" The thief 
seemed willing to ease his captor's 
mind on every point. 

"Well, er — Mr. Jenkins, I'm very 
much inclined to let you off this time 
as it's your first offense — ^against me 
— but as one good turn deserves an- 
other, I'd like to engage your services 
to assist me in playing a little practi- 
cal joke on a few intimate friends 
who are dining with me to-night. We 
are to have the private dining-room, 
number seven, on the second floor, 
and I think it would be jolly to give 
'em a little jolt, er — say to relieve 
them of their watches as they arrive, 
just a dinner stunt, you see." 

Jenkins looked comprehending and 

"Then when the cigars come the 
watches can be brought on a waiter — 
by Jove! I'll get a half dozen white 
satin boxes from the jewelry store 
down stairs — ^they'll be dandy souve- 
nirs, eh? And you'll do your part, 
won't you?" 

"Why, certainly, your Excellency, 
I'm your humble servant in all things. 
You have but to command me, and — " 

"Well, you just come on down with 
me," interposed Dave. "It's about 
seven-fifteen now, I judge." 

"Seven-twelve-thir^ !" said Jen- 
kins, as he inspected the beautiful 
gold watch that hung at the other end 
of his handsome fob. 

"We will repair to the banquet 
hall," said the host with suitably pom- 
pous intonations "Before we leave 
the treaty chamber I think I ought to 
require a pledge from you that you 
will ghre me a square deal." 

"What oath do you want, Your 
Honor?" Jenkins was much more ac- 
customed to the phrase "Your Hon- 
or" than "Your Excellency." It rolled 
out of his mouth by force of habit. 
"What do you deem most sacred?" 
"Well, I am a Quaker and opposed 
to taking oaths, but some years ago 
I lost a little daughter. I'll swear by 
my hopes of meeting that child in a 
better world that I'll give you a square 
deal." Jenkins' imaginary offspring 
was in tfie class of children that Ra- 
chel mourned for, but Philadelphia 
Jinks' pathetic sigh so perfectly sim- 
ulated the real article that Dave's big 
Irish heart throbbed s)mipathetically 
as he took the rascal's outstretched 


The acting Chairman rapped vig- 
orously on the table : 

"The Committee on Taxation and 
Special Exemptions will please come 
to order. The Secretary will read the 
minutes of the last meeting." 

"I move that the minutes of that 
thar meetin' be dispersed with," said 
Gunby, his mouth full of half-done 

"I second the motion," said Stem- 
berg, his hair bristling with anxiety 
lest he should be late at the execu- 
tive appointment. 

The waiter poured more wine 
around, and the business in hand went 
forward as fast as Sternberg's con- 
science and Jordan's amiable, ambling, 
colorless anecdotes would allow. To 
Dave, the time seemed flying as fast 
as his warm blood coursed through 
his hot brain. Morrow's queries 
seemed superfluous, and the statisti- 
cal answers interminable. Fremont's 
interpolations were asinine, he 
thought, and time was flying. Direct- 
ly some fool of them would ask for 
the time, and — he had had to make 
his plans so quickly that they were 
very immature. He realized that in 
a moment of temporary sanity. What 
shape would affairs take when they 
discovered their missing timepieces? 
He was fairly flabbergasted with anx- 

Digitized by 




lety, and by the slow-moving wheels 
of committee deliberation. There were 
six members present. It would re- 
quire four ayes to carry his business 
through. Doubts had displayed them- 
selves in the minds of Sternberg and 
Morrow, doubts that were based on 
conscience, as to whether or not the 
interests under discussion should be 
exempt from the taxations and other 
legal strictures possible to be laid on 
them by the legislature. Dave's head 
fairly whirled. "Time, time, time!" 
beat his blood through his brain. At 
last it came! Sternberg arose and 
popped his heels together and bowed 
from his waist forward, a clean-cut, 
half-and-half, continental bow. He re- 
gretted to withdraw himself, but he 
feared that he must go. He had left 
his watch at his hotel, he supposed. 
Would Mr. Mehan give him the time ? 

Dave's watch stood at seven-twen- 
ty, right where Jenkins had left it 
standing when he went into the works, 
but Dave's vision was so blurred by 
excitement that he thought he read 

Dave's business had been so expe- 
dited that it could well end where it 
stood. He gave a signal to Gunby, 
who called for the question. Dave's 
blood seemed suddenly to chill and 
stagnate all in his head, but he man- 
aged to say: 

"Wait a minute, Mr. Sternberg, I 
have a little souvenir of the occasion 
for you all. Sam, the souvenirs !" 

The black waiter handed the host 
a silver salver upon which reposed six 
white satin cases. 

"Now, gentlemen, don't open your 
cases please until all are provided. As 
your name is called, take one. If you 
don't like your selection, swap with 
your neighbor or whoever will swap 
with you. Proceed with the roll, Mr. 
Secretary." Dave gave a flourishing 
gesture. Whatever catastrophe might 
follow, he was nearing the end of his 
service as a special corporation agent. 
Somewhat of his old-time indepen- 
dence was near at hand. 

Men are but big boys, after all. 
The wine, the hospitable occasion, the 

winning qualities of the young legis- 
lator who sat at the head of the table, 
both as host and Acting Chairman, 
the very comradery of the hour 
warmed their hearts. Surely Dave's 
patron saint was smiling on him in 
this the climax of his maiden career 
in practical politics. 

"Mr. Smith." 

"Absent," answered the Acting 
Chairman with humorous satisfaction. 
His guests all laughed genially in 
sympathetic concert. 

"Mr. Mehan." 


"Mr. Jordan." 

"Aye." (This with conscientious 
reluctance, but with sufficient audibili- 
ty to warrant the Secretary in enroll- 
ing the second affirmative vote.) 

"Mr. Gunby." 

"Aye," answered the gentleman 
from Estill, his mouth full of salted 

"Mr. Fremont." 


Dave's grin was expansive. He had 
his majority. The devil could take 
the leavings. 

"Mr. Sternberg." 

"I would like to explain my vote — " 
the German-American began. 

"No need for apologies, Mr. Stem- 
berg. If you want to vote no, vote 
no! I believe in a man's acting ac- 
cording to his conscience, in the scorn 
of consequence." Victory had moved 
Dave to magnanimity. 

The conscientious member made a 
brief statement of the doubts he en- 
tertained concerning the equity of 
some points involved in the bill, but 
its preponderant merits impelled him 
to vote aye. 


Morrow's "Aye" made the vote 

"Now!" said Gunby, indicating by 
his example that the time had arrived 
when they could scrutinize their sou- 
venirs. As each man's eyes plunged 
into his respective box, a whimsical, 
discomfited smile overspread his face. 
Instead of a watch, either his own or 
his neighbor's and the dainty stick- 

Digitized by 




pin of old gold which Dave had sup- 
plied, there reposed in the sheeny 
folds of each satin case a hard beaten 
biscuit and a lemon ! 

Dave, all unmindful of this contre- 
temps, was busy reading a note dis- 
covered by Sam on the waiter beneath 
the boxes. 

Though brief, it was explanatory: 

"Dear Gov. : 

"Pardon the liberty I take. 

"Yours for the catching, 

Dave's bright roses turned to ashes 
on his cheeks. He, Dave Mehan, the 
sagacious corporation agent, the as- 
tute young politician from Barbee, 
Dave a keen, penetrating son of old 
Ireland, was deceived, gulled, played 
by the thief like a foolish, credulous 
infant! His friends — for had they 
not to a man proved themselves his 
true friends within the last fifteen 
minutes? — his friends had been 
robbed as it were, by his own insti- 
gation. He could replace their watch- 
es with new ones, but this would be a 
sort of confession of complicity — ^be- 
side, he knew that every man's watch 
has associations and memories that 
make it of inestimable value even if it 
is only a Waterbury. Dave's con- 
science, and pride lashed him like a 
cat-o-nine-tails. He was upon the 
very eve of elaborate apologies, apolo- 
gies that might end in a confession 
for all his impetuous heart could 
vouchsafe, when a rapping was heard 
at the door. The Chief of Police stood 
on the threshold, and fast to his wrist 
was handcuffed Philadelphia Jinks. 

"Have any of you gentlemen lost 
your watches ?" the officer asked with 
professional inquisitiveness. 

Every legislator's hand went to his 

"Yes, why, yes, yes," came a con- 
cert of six voices, for even the secre- 
tary had been touched. 

"Do you think you could pick them 
out of this collection?" The Chief 
ordered an accompanying cop to pour 
out his haul on the table. 

Dave and Phil looked into each 
other's eyes for a cool, level moment 
and then the prisoner turned his face 

"It's up to me to explain that sou- 
venir deal, I reckon. Governor." 

The occupants of the room all 
turned their eyes to the prisoner for 
the story. Dave paled and gulped, 
struggling for words with which to 
stop the exposure of his culpability 
in the matter. 

"You see gentlemen, it's like this — " 

Dave lifted his hand in unfeigned 
distress. The gesture held pleading in 
it. Words had not yet come to him, 
and the prisoner's next sentence held 
him dumb. 

"I'm sorry, gentlemen, that I felt 
constrained to swap my biscuits for 
yours, but after I took them and the 
beautiful stick pins that ^ere in the 
souvenir boxes, my sense of humor 
overcame me. In the vernacular, I 
felt impelled to hand you a lemon by 
way of a little pleasantry. My pal has 
the souvenirs and I hope you will re- 
cover them, although I must advise 
you that the chances are against you, 
as he is the slickest ever. Since hav- 
ing the pleasure of making your per- 
sonal acquaintance in this rather un- 
conventional manner, I beg to again 
express my deep sorrow over your 
irreparable losses on this auspicious 
occasion. Wishing you many returns 
of the day, I give you good morrow." 
He bowed his graceful figure out of 
the room, assisted by the chief's guid- 
ing hand, giving Dave an understand- 
ing wink accompanied by a whimsi- 
cal grimace which said more potent- 
ly than words: 

"Deny if you can that there is hon- 
or among thieves." 

Digitized by 




By William Mac Donald Goodman 

EAH come Shed," 
Uncle Adam re- 
marked, as he took 
a seat by the kitchen 
fire. "Now, le's see 
who airs gwine lis- 
'en at a ha*nt tale dis 
time. Dar Aun' 
Marthy, dar little 
Johnny, dar Shed, 
en heah me — us fo* 
en no mo'. Shed, how come you nos- 
in' 'roun' atter dark?" 

"I heah you got ha'nts gwine, en 
I des stop in whar de light wuz," the 
boy replied. 

"ril be boun' dat dat's hittin' in de 
neighborhoods er de trufe," said the 
old darky. "Talk about bein' skeer'd 
er ha'nts. Take a nigger lak Shed, 
whut's des gittin' 'long whar he thinks 
he's a man in de daylight, but whom 
is doubtful whe'r he's five year ole er 
no when night come on, en you is got 
sump'n dat'll break his neck a-runnin' 
f'um a white stump." 

"Ef I see sump'n skeery-lookin' in 
de dark, I try to see 'f I c'n make out 
whut 'tis de nex' day," Shed ob- 
served with a g^in. 

"Dat's de solum gospel, en is des 
whut I been a-sayin'. How you like 
to hear 'bout a ginnywine ha'nt to- 

"All right, ef any er you is a-gwine 
my way home. Ef I got ter lis'en at a 
ha'nt tale, I got ter have comp'ny 
when I leaves heah." 

"We all in de same fix," said Aunt 
Martha, "so you nee'nter res' oneasy. 
Go on wid de tale, Unk' Adam." 
"Well, suh," he began, "dis heah 

tale come dose to home. You alls is 
heerd of Kunnel Malcom, whut live in 
dat ole bat house over on de Burnt 
Hick'ry road?" 

"Dat's de fines'-lookin' ole house in 
de country," Aunt Martha stated. 

"Lookin' at it f'um de outside, wid 
its big front po'ch en tall pillers, hit 
do look fine," he said. "But I ain't 
speakin' uv de outside. You wanter 
go inside to feel like you mistook yo'- 
se'f. It's dark en musty, en ev'ything 
in dar look ole en wo'n. I didn' know 
de place, but I knowed de Kunnel, en 
when I happen 'long dar en he tell 
me he want de cyarpet tuck up in de 
parlor, I jump at de job. Don't know 
whut he wanter move de c)rarpet fer. 
Hit b'en dar sence time wuz, en I 
don't see why it couldn't des ez well 
'main dar. But he want it tuck up, he 
say, en I got no business axin' ques- 
tions, so I follers him in de house en 
sets to work. De parlor in dat house 
is a front room on de secon' flo'. Yes, 
it is. Down stairs looks lak de lin- 
germents uv some ole bam. It's mos* 
gone to 'struction ev'ywhar 'cep' de 
room whar de cyarpet wuz. De house 
lak hits owner— done seed hits bes' 
day. Well, suh, de Kunnel he lef me 
in dar en I went to work. De cyarpet 
dusty en musty. I tug ah sweat a- 
while, en den I res' en look 'roun'. 
On one side de room wuz a planner 
whut take de premyer fer size. It had 
legs 'bout lak dem on dis cheer, en 
you could kiver de top wid dat biscuit 
bo'd dar. It got brass en silver en pu'l 
trimmin's do', en I spec' hit wuz 
mighty fine in de time er Nora en de 
ark. In de middle er de room wuz a 

Digitized by 




table wid a big book on it en a tray 
full uv cards what done turn yaller, 
dey been dar so long. Den on tu'r 
side de room was a picture uv a lady 
^life size en so natchul dat I tuck 
en jump when I fus' seed it Dar she 
stood, wid her white skirt sorter pull 
roun' wid one han', lookin' at me lak 
she wuz a-bossin' uv de job. It made 
me feel skittish, somehow er some 
way, en I got busy ag'in en move on 
'cross de flo'. I got to de yuther en' 
er de room en work dar awhile, en 
when I stop to res' ag^in I tuck un- 
other peep at de po'trait, en Aun* 
Marthy, ef it's de las' word I ever 
speaks, de pictur' er det 'oman wuz 
a-lookin' sp'ang at me de same ez it 
done when I wuz on de t'ur side." 

"Git out, Unk* Adam," she ex- 

"Hit's de trufe! En dat ain't all. 
Ez soon ez I cotch my bre'f ag'in en 
could muster de nerve, I 'sperimented. 
I tuck a stroll down de room, all de 
time lookin' at de picture, en bless 
goodness, de eyes uv de thing foUered 
me same's ef she wuz alive." 

"En right den I'd er strolled out 
er dat house en on home like er rab- 
bit wid de houn's atter him," Shed 

"But dat ain't all yit," Uncle Adam 
continued. "Ef dat picture *didn' 
frown at me one time ez I pass th'oo 
de room, I ain't here! Shed don't 
know whut he talkin' 'bout. Dat cyar- 
pet ain't tuck up )rit, I don't reckon. 
I played oflf sick, en de Kunnel cuss 
me out, en I lef dar." 

"Shucks; dat ain't whut I calls a 
ha'nt tale," said Shed. "I'd er th'owed 
up dat job, but I wouldn't go oflf en 
make er 'miration Iwut whut I 

"You des hoi' on, young nigger," 
he demanded. "When I tells a tale 
hit's a tale- You des wait 'twell I gits 
th'oo wid it, en den ef it don't av'age 
up wid yo' notions 'bout ghostes, den 
you ain't got de sense I Siought you 

He seemed lost in thought for a few 
moments, and then resumed: 

"I ain't 'zackly got holt er all de 

ins en outs er de commencemint er de 
conclusions uv de thing, but I'll leave 
all dat off. All I know is whut I 
'member of whut Aun' Molly say she 
rickerleck. I pass Aun' Molly's house 
on my way home, en dis whut hap- 
pen : I got dat picture on de brain, en 
I hatter tell her how cu'ous hit wuz. 
I tell her how come I in dat parlor, en 
whut I see, en no sooner did I do dat, 
dan dat ole Aferky 'oman commence 
to laugh fit to kill herse'f. She sot dar 
in de sun on de cabin step en des sway 
f'lun side to side en giggle lak some 
fool gal. She go on dat a- way awhile, 
en den she 'low: 

" " 'Oh, my, Adam ; you been walk 
in on 'imi da da. Enty?* 

"I ax whut I been walk in on, en 
she laugh ag^in en 'low: 

" 'She ha'nt fer true.' 

"Well, de long en de short er de 
matter is dat I sot right down dar by 
de ole critter en heerd er ha'nt tale. 
I ain't gwine try to tell it lak she tole 
it, fer I ain't got no time to tangle my 
tongue up wid her rice-plan'ashun 
lingo. I know de tale, en I'll tell it 
my way. It seem lak, f'um whut she 
say, dat dat 'oman whut in de picture 
wuz de Kunnel's mammy, en dat de 
Runnel's pa he built dat house fer her 
when she was a bride en she fix up 
de parlor des lak it stan' to-day. She 
fix up de parlor, en de husban' he 
called in a fine painter en had her pic- 
ture painted en hung up dar whar I 
'skivered it. He built dat house en 
she fix up de parlor, but it seem lak 
her money wuz at de bottom er de 
whole business. Dat what Aun' Molly 
say, anyhow. But no matter 'bout dat 
— <ley had de money, en dey live well. 
Dey live well, dey did, en ev'ything 
move on lak six en six, 'twell one sad 
day de lady she up en died. She die, 
she did, en de husban' grieve en mope 
'roun' fer a long time, en den folks 
commence fer to notice dat he begin 
to spruce up en look young agin." 

"Who de y'uther 'oman?" Aunt 
Martha inquired. 

"Who say anything 'bout airy 
nother 'oman?" he asked. 

"Dey one dar," she said, simply. 

Digitized by 




"Well, dey ain't no 'sputen* dat, but 
I dunno whut her name wuz er whar- 
'bouts she come f'um. Twan't long 
atter dat fo' de widderer brung home 
ernother honey-my-love. I don't 
know whut wuz back uv all de doin's 
dat tuck place, but dar wuz sump*n 
dar whut ain't nuver come to light. 
Boim' to b'en dat way. He fotch de 
tew wife home one night, en dey 
went in dat parlor arm in arm. Dey 
walk in de parlor, en ez day walk in 
dey heerd sump'n lak er cu'ous noise 
over whar de pictur' hung, en dey 
look, en bless goodness de 'oman in 
de picture des step out in de flo' en 
give her head a toss en walk f 'um de 
room !" 

"See me sail !" Shed exclaimed. 

"I nuver is heerd de beat er dat," 
said Aunt Martha. "Ef I got ter die, 
I nuver wanter die f'um sich er sight. 
Picture turn into er ha'nt Ack big- 
gity, walk outer de frame en toss her 
head. Lawd, Lawd! What would 
you er done, Unk' Adam, ef you'd a- 
seed dat?" 

"I'd er tossed my head th'oo de 
winder en went off wid de sash 'roun' 
my neck," he answered. "But I ain't 
come to de funny part yit" 

"How dey any funny part to a tale 
lak dat?" she asked. 

"Well, hit don't come in whar de 
new bride fainted en de husban' run 
fer de doctor, do it might, ef you 
could see how quick he started fer de 
doctor en how slow he come back. I 
don't know how dat wuz, en I ain't 
sayin'. It don't come in when dey all 
foun', atter de bride come to her 
senses, dat her hair wuz white en dat 
her husbun's hair wuz white, en dat 
de picture wuz a-hangin' up dar 
same's ef it hadn't nuver turn't to a 
ha'nt. De funny part wedge itse'f in 
de tale whar Aunt Molly 'scribe er ole 
nigger man, what been a suhvant in 
de family fer years, comin' up de hall 
wid some wine en cake on a waiter." 

"He met de ha'nt," suggested Aunt 

"Yes, he met de ha'nt But de fun 
didn't come in dar. He met de ha'nt, 
but he thought it wuz de new bride. 

Aun' Marthy, you know what dat ole 
nigger do, well ez I do. Cain't you 
des see him bow en scrape en try to 
say sump'n nice, en overdo de thing? 
Dat's whut he done. He bow en 
scrape, en say how welcome she wuz, 
en do he hadn't look dose at her, he 
comperment her by sayin' dat she de 
fines' lady whut uver step in dat 
house. Consoun' ! Talkin' to er ha'nt, 
en not only dat, but talkin' to er mad 
ha'nt; en wus'n dat still, sayin' de 
ve'y thing dat would rile de ghos' 
wuss'n it wuz ! He made his speedi, 
he did, en den raise his eyes 'spectin' 
to see er smile, en right dar de wine en 
cake struck de flo'! De ha'nt wuz 
reachin' fer him — reachin' fer him, 
mun, wid a look dat froze de blood in 
de bones." 

"Whut de ole nigger do?" Shed 

"Whut he do? Whut do de bullet 
do when de cap bus? Dat ole bow- 
legged fool show de ha'nt simip'n new. 
He show dat things wid wings on 
dey back ain't de swiftes' movers whut 
you kin skeer up. Aun' Molly say de 
tale go dat he didn't take time to turn, 
but run back'ards 'twell he hit de do' 
en got slewed roun' ez he bus' th'oo 
it She say he nuver come back any 
mo', nuther, en I ain't a-g^ine doubt 
dat. Heah another nigger man whut 
ain't gwine back dar, en I nuver seed 
nothin' 'long side er whut he seed." 

"I nuver know'd dat house 'uz 
ha'nted," said Aunt Martha. "It des 
go to show dat you nuver kin tell 
whut you gwinter run into." 

"Dat's er fac' I I nuver knowed er 
dis house bein' ha'nted, but it wouldn't 
'sprise me to see one step in here in 
dis kitchen right now," he declared. 

"I'd 'sprise you, do," said SheA 
"You ain't nuver seed no runnin' yit" 

"Well, I cain't say ez to dat, bein' 
ez how me en you en a ha'nt ain't 
nuver met up wid one 'nother at de 
same time. I ain't noways anxious 
fer dat to happen, but ef I uver got to 
see another one er dem yer sights, I 
wants you to be 'long wid me." 

"Ef I is, you musn' blame me ef I 
fails to stay wid you," he said. 

Digitized by 




'1 wouldn' ; do I doubts which one 
would lef de y'uther," Uncle Adam 
replied. "Yes, I doubts dat. I'm a-git- 
t'n' ole en wobbly in de legs — ^but, 
shucks ! Don't nuver talk to me about 
leavin' me back whar a ha'nt is, 'cause 
I ain't a-gpvine b'lieve you. I mo' 
apt to b'lieve dat we'd work side en 
side lak er pa'r er well trained bosses 
—I know we would, ef you kin move 
lak you say you kin. We'd be lak 
dem fo'ks at de graveyard gate dat 
time. Uver hear 'bout dat? Wa'n't 
no ha'nt dar — leastways none didn't 
show itse'f. It 'uz dis way: Two 
white mens stol't some chickens en 
went in a graveyard to 'vide 'um up. 
I knows dey wuz white mens, case ef 
dey'd er been niggers, dis here tale 
would er happen som'ers else. Well, 
dey went to a graveyard to 'vide 'um 
up, dey did, en had de chickens in er 
sack on er grave 'mungst de tomb- 
stones, all 'cep' two whut dey'd 
drapped wid dey legs tied together 
down by de gate. Dey sot dar on de 
grave, 'vidin' 'um up. One count'n' 
out, say, 'You take dis'n en I take 
dat'n — ^you take dis'n en I take dat'n.' 

"Two niggers come 'long de road 
fum town, en dey hear 'um talkin'. 
Dey stop at de gate en lis'n. Dey see 
two fo'ms sett'n back dar 'mungst de 
graves en hear one say, *You take 
dis'n en I take dat'n — you take dis'n 

en I take dat'n.' One de niggers ax 
de yuther what in de name er de 
Lawd he call dat? Tother one say 
he heerd his mammy tell about sich er 
thing, but he nuver thought he'd see 
it indurin' his day en time. Fus' one 
ax whut. T'other one say, *De debble 
en his wife 'vidin' up souls.' Dey lis'n 
some mo', en de two men wid de 
chickens got in a 'spute. One say, 
'You done tuck de bigges' dat time.' 
De yuther say he didn't; t'other say he 
did. Niggers lis'n. Dey 'spute awhile, 
en den one say, 'Well, I'll take dis'n 
en you take dem two over dar by de 
gate.* Gentermens I Dem niggers riz 
en flew I De man wuz talkin' 'bout de 
chickens whut he'd lef at de gate, 
but de niggers thought it wuz de deb- 
ble en his wife 'vidin' up souls, en dey 
gwinter th'ow dem in fer good meas- 
ure in de deal. Dey tells me dat dem 
niggers got started wid dey heads 
down en run side en side clean pas' 
home 'fo' dey knowed it." 

"Hush yo' fuss!" Shed exclaimed. 
"Ain't no use'n talkin' 'bout how a 
man could leave a thing like that be- 
hine. But hit's des a tale." 

"How you know dat?" Uncle Adam 

"Case ef it wuz so, all dem niggers 
would er heerd would er b'en, 'You 
take dis'n.' " 

"Shed know," was Aunt Martha's 



Digitized by 



By James L. Elderdice 

There is a tree, a wondrous tree. 

That never, never grows, 
Save in December's bitter cold, 

Among the frozen snows. 
Its fruit is strange and varied, too. 

Of every color bright ; 
It buds and bears and yields its crop 

All in a single night. 

The Christmas tree is not properly 
a Christian tree at all, but of heathen 
origin. Learned men disagree as to 
whether this origin should be traced 
to Ygdrasil, the tree of life in Scandi- 
navian mythology, or to one of the 
customs of the old Roman harvest fes- 
tival, the Saturnalia, when houses 
were decorated with evergreens to af- 
ford the woodland spirits refuge from 
the cold. 

The Germans from ancient times 
paid great veneration to certain trees ; 
the Great Oak, at Wetzlar, which St. 
Boniface cut down, was dedicated to 
the thunder-god. In Catholic parts of 
Germany there are many sacred trees 
still, with images of the Blessed Vir- 
gins in them, thus consecrated and 
preserved from destruction. When 
Pope Gregory sent Augustine to con- 
vert Saxon England, he told him to 
accommodate, as far as possible, 

Christian to heathen ceremonies, that 
the people might not be startled. 
There can be no doubt that our pres- 
ent Christmas tree is a Germanic 
and Scandinavian institution, im- 
ported into France, Italy and Eng- 
land. Trimmed with candles and 
golden fruits, and sweet confections, it 
has been, is and ever will be, the de- 
light of children in all the homes of 
the world, even the Hebrews of Eng- 
land and America fitting it up for 
their children in honor of the Mes- 
siah, who, with them, is yet to come. 

In Germany there is a legend that 
when Eve plucked the fatal apple, the 
leaves shriveled, the tree changed its 
nature and became an evergreen, bear- 
ing witness in all seasons to the fall 
of man. Only once a year, on the 
birthday of the Redeemer, it blooms 
with lights and is laden with gifts of 
love — and so we have the Christmas 

One of the most popular traditions 
entwined about the history of the 
Christmas tree is that which connects 
Martin Luther, the Reformer, with 
its first use. One Christipkas Eve he 
wandered over a snow-cojvcred coun- 

Digitized by 




try, tinder a clear sky studded with 
myriads of glittering stars. Over- 
come with emotion, longing to repro- 
duce the scene, and to explain the 
sight to his family together with the 
deep impression whidi it had made 
upon his mind, he cut a small fir tree, 
put some cancUes on its branches and 
lit them. This fir tree was probably 
the first one upon which candles ever 
were lighted on Christmas Eve. There 
are still to be found in many homes 
in this country old German prints 
which picture Luther and his family 
around this tree. 

The Christmas ^^ '»'«*« 
brought to Americ 
German emigrants 
sylvania, and, perh; 
by the Dutch settle 
New York. The 
Pennsylvania Gen 
lived largely to 1 
selves, and maintain 
a humbler manner 
much the same cus- 
toms which they 
had known in Ger- 
many. Indeed, the 
custom of trim- 
ming the tree with 
toys and trinkets '- 
for the children of 
the households, 
had been practiced 
for many years be- 
fore it attracted 
general attention, 
and as late as the 
early part of the 
last century it was 

considered a novelty in American 
homes outside of German communi- 

Francis E. Leupp, United States 
Commissioner of Indian affairs, in a 
recent magazine article describing how 
the Indians spend Christmas, says: 

"When the white people brought 
to the notice of the Indians the Christ- 
mas tree, with its annual crop of beau- 
ties and benefits, the pretty fancy 
caught hold of their minds very 
promptly. Indeed, Chief King Thun- 
der, on the Rosebud Reservation in 

South Dakota, who once used to hate 
the white man's ways, acknowledged 
his conversion in the presence of a 
Christmas tree set up by a trader for 
the Indians of his camp, by saying to 
the donor : 'My friend, you have made 
our hearts glad. Our children are 
happy, and you tell us that this is 
good — that it is the right thing to do. 
If it is such a good thing we ought 
to have one of these trees every wedk.' 
"The Southern Cheyennes have 
given the Christmas tree the pretty 
title, 'the giving tree.' 

"Trees, generally, are among the 
m^cf '^'^nspicuous objects of 
n the pantheistic reli- 
ed by most of our In- 
d evergreens are re- 
ith especial reverence 
trees that are 'ever 
One of the Indian 
>nials, which, perhaps, 
a closer relation than 
ny other to our 
liristmas tree celebra- 
ion, may be found 
mong the traditions 
f one of the groups in 
North Dakota: 
Many years ago, it 
runs, during the 
days of the 'medi- 
cine clan,' a cedar 
tree was brought 
in by the leading 
medicine men in 
the early spring, 
^before any medi- 
cine ceremony 
^^ ^' could be per- 
formed. The cedar tree was adored 
on account of the length of its life, 
and called 'Grandmother.' 

"The tree was always planted di- 
rectly in front of the medicine lodge. 
Before it was put in its accustomed 
place, people were invited to make 
offerings to "Grandmother." Calicoes, 
shawls, moccasins, robes, etc., were 
brought and placed on the tree, chiefly 
by the children and youth, much in the 
same manner as we place our gifts 
on the Christmas tree. Everyone who 
brought anything to the 'ever living 

Digitized by 




Grandmother/ was absolved for any 
wrong he had committed, and re- 
ceived a living benediction from one 
of the four leading medicine men, who 
ended the ceremony by an earnest 
prayer that those who had honored 
the Grandmother by gifts might be 
blessed with health, goodness and long 
life — the same as she herself enjoyed. 
The gifts were afterwards distribu- 

In connection with the many le- 
gends associated with the Christmas 
tree, it is interesting to learn that 
many of the people of Glastonbury, in 
Somerset, England, still believe in the 
miraculous properties of the famous 
"Glastonbury thorn" that blossoms at 
Christmas-tide, and is then duly hon- 
ored. According to tradition, Joseph 
of Arimathea, soon after the Savior's 
crucifixion, came to England, bring- 
ing with him the holy gr^Al, or chalice, 
used at the Last Supper. Landing at 
Glastonbury, he traveled inland and 
sat down to rest at a spot now known 
as Weary-All Hill. He thrust his staff 
of hawthorne into the ground. It 
immediately sprouted and g^ew into 
a tree that was venerated as a holy 
relic. Notwithstanding the fact that 
botanists say that there is a variety 
of hawthorne that always blossoms 

just at this season, a number of old 
men and women every Christmas 
morning may be seen at Weary-All 
Hill, engaged in prayer and meditation. 
Of all Christmas tree customs, one 
of the strangest prevails in parts of 
Russia. It associates the festivities 
with one of the most important events 
of life — the choice of a wife. A gift tree 
is set up in the village, on the branches 
of which roost young unmarried 
women, cloaked and hooded and 
veiled, so that their identity is con- 
cealed. At the proper hour the wait- 
ing swains are admitted one by one, 
just as they are in our familiar Ameri- 
can game of "clap in, dap out." Each 
as he enters lifts a veil, — of course, at 
random, — and the face thus disclosed 
belongs to his future wife. The act of 
lifting the veil betroths the couple, 
the penalty for breaking the engage- 
ment being a heavy fine to be paid 
into the village treasury. We are told 
that the result seldom fails to be hap- 
py. But we can readily believe that 
in interviews before the hour of trial, 
conspiracies for the cheating of ill 
fortune are made, and the lover may 
depend upon his ingenious inamorata 
to convey to him the concerted signal 
whereby her identity may be deter- 

Digitized by 




By Berenice Fearn Young 

|T'S perfectly absurd 
Anne's not being 
married — she looks 
so marriageable ! Be- 
sides, we've all got 
our tails cut off — 
why shouldn't she? 
Which the same may 
be neither gram- 
mar nor rhetoric 
nor yet good taste, 
but it's human nature. At least it's 
woman's nature. We've got to get 
Anne married." 

All four of the girls were sitting 
on the Westinghouse colonnade wait- 
ing for Anne Hopkins to join them, 
and then on to the Lacys' for 
"bridge." Of the four, three were 
married and one tottering on the 
brink. They and Anne had grown up 
together in the little town at the foot 
of the mountain, and all but Anne 
had passed from a merry girlhood to 
a gay young-ladyhood and so, by ways 
more or less devious and strange, 
Elizabeth said, into the state of mat- 
rimony. Instead of going to parties 
on the mountain now and coming 
home with the waning moon in the 
early dawn they had their morning 
whist club twice a week, their after- 
noon euchre dub once a . week, a 
Browning class each Thursday, the 
Qiurch Guild every two weeks, and 
their husbands and a sprinkling of 
children at other times. 

Elizabeth, who had been engaged 
three times every year of her life 
since she could g^urgle, had now set- 
tled within herself that she really 
loved Tom Winter, and that any- 
how she either had to marry or, as 

she declared, do woi:se — "go to At- 
lanta and keep house for a wifeless 
brother and four children." She was 
to be married in October. So Anne 
alone of the old crowd was left un- 
plucked from the parent stem, and 
the other four were bent upon get- 
ting her off by January at least. 

"Jane," said Elizabeth, "what in the 
name of all that's eligible, has become 
of Walter Ludlow?" 

"Oh, he's awfully hard to marry! 
I tried it for years. He's spent a life- 
time wandering from the pyramids of 
Egypt to the prairies of Texas in 
search of variety — doesn't seem to be 
able to find it in any infinite amount in 
either Qeopatra or the cowboy girl — 
and he's finally brought up in Knox- 
ville. Lives in a house of his own, 
if you please, with two Chinese cool- 
ies and an Indian worshiper of the 
sun, supposed to be "er gen'm'n" by 
the Knoxville darkies because, al- 
though "he do wear a nightgownd on 
de street an' big gold rings in his 
y'ers an' a head hank'chif, yet his 
ways is male!" Walter's old black 
mammy cooks for him, and their 
combined efforts have made him im- 
pregnable against the assault of any 
woman on earth. He's full of ideas 
and isms and fads and things, and 
convictions, whatever they may be, 
about woman's extravagance and love 
of money, besides. We'll have to pass 
him up, he'd spoil any lone hand in 
the world. And then he won't marry, 
he just won't — ^and there's an end to 

"I think he will," said Sara quietly 
— "any man will, if you approach him 
with judgment and patience," 

Digitized by 




"Oh, patience— out upon patience I 
We haven't time for it between now 
and January. We've got to do things 
— ^Anne won't." This from Fan An- 
drews who had met her fate (Eliza- 
beth's name for him was "prey"), on 
Monday and married him on Tues- 
day of the following week, and who 
went by the name of Solomon Grun- 
dy in tfie crowd because of this pre- 
cipitate accomplishment. 

"Look here," protested Elizabeth, 
"I met Walter Ludlow in Nashville 
the year after the World's Fair — 
Goodness ! how long ago that's been I 
I was but as an infant in arms in my 
knowledge of ways and means to ac- 
quire man, I smile now to think. Any- 
way, Walter Ludlow was telling me 
of a dark-eyed girl he had traveled 
with from Chicago to Nashville, who 
was coming on home here. My eyes 
beini; blue I made all sorts of inqui^ 
ies and found out it was Anne I Anne's 
eves, Anne's face like a magnolia, 
Anne's head like the Venus de Milo, 
and no doubt her shoulders bore the 
wings of Samothrace and her feet 
the sandals of Atalanta. From time 
to time through all these immemorial 
years, as the poetry book hath it, 
whenever I have seen Walter Lud- 
low, he's never failed to ask about 
"those eyes of October." Now all 
this has a moral and those who will 
may see — ^let's have him down from 
Knoxville to my wedding, and marry 
Anne to him in January. It's ri- 
diculous her going to waste like this. 
Ill make Tom ask Walter Ludlow, 
who never was known to refuse an 
invitation, for fear he'll miss a sen- 
sation. He says he's so bored with 
everyday life that he goes around 
hunting sensations with a butterfly 
net I gave him one once." 

"One what? Butterfly net?" 

"Umph-mph — sensation." 

"Why didn't you marry him?" 

"Don't ask me ! He led me a bore- 
alis race (he's got piles of money) 
but he flitted ere I could get to the 
place," and Elizabeth laughed and 
picked up her fan. 

So it was decided for Anne. Wal- 

ter Ludlow was asked to Elizabeth's 
wedding house-party and duly turned 
up — tall, near-sighted, slightly bald, 
thin as thin ice, and as inscrutable as 
a Chinese mandarin. Fan Andrews 
said. He attached himself to Anne, 
who unconscious of the plot against 
her, endured him and was outwardly 
calm. Anne was always outwardly 
calm and very handsome. She didn't 
want to get married, but she didn't 
mind being married. The others 
were, and while there were disagreea- 
bles and inconveniences coincident 
with marriage, still the odds were in 
its favor. It's nice to have an estab- 
lishment and servants and things. 
There were two nieces, a younger 
brother, and a sister whose husband 
had thought better of it and left for 
pastures new, all at her father's. Then 
there were her father and her mother. 
Yes, the house was full. Some people • 
seemed to like being married, maybe 
she would. So when in early Decem- 
ber, Walter Ludlow asked her in an 
even, well-modulated voice to marry 
him, she replied with unaccountable 
calm that she would; unaccountable, 
because, after all, you know, when a 
man asks you to marry him and you 
say yes, why — ought you to be calm? 

Walter Ludlow showed her all the 
necessary attention as far as coming 
to the little town and ensconcing him- 
self in the village hotel and calling on 
her twice a day was concerned. He 
made her no presents. There were no 
flowers, no books, not even the cus- 
tomary ring. Anne thought that a 
little strange, or rather she thought 
very little about it, but Susie thought 
it mighty strange. Susie was the sis- 
ter rejected of man. 

They were to be married in Janu- 
ary. The rest of the winter was to be 
spent in New York. In March they 
were to go to the West Indies, and 
later to Europe for a year. Anne had 
never been to Europe, nor indeed any- 
where. That trip to Chicago in her 
early girlhood had been her only flight 
from home, but she loved all beauti- 
ful things and pleasures, imagined 
them, and longed for them, and for- 

Digitized by 




dgn countries for to see. She and 
Ludlow talked of where they would 
go and what they would enjoy. No, 
Anne listened, Ludlow talked. She 
wondered sometimes when he was ab- 
sent why she was so silent, so un- 
stirred. Not indifferent to the wed- 
ding, nor to the journey planned, but 
to the man belonging to them. Was 
she indifferent or only piqued, she 
asked herself, because she was not 
wooed as other women are? Yet 
what, after all, had she to complain 
of? Walter Ludlow wanted a wife, 
wanted her for that office, at least, 
he seemed to, for the world was full 
of women. She wanted a husband 
and she had one, at least, she was 
about to have one. She wished she 
were in love, she wanted to be in love. 
She had always wanted to be again 
since that summer before she was 
twenty and Charlie Westmoreland had 
danced himself into her favor. Now 
Charlie Westmoreland was living in 
Baltimore, married this ten years. 
Their little romance had blazed up 
and out long, long ago. She had had 
other "suitors," as her mother, who 
came from South Carolina, called 
them, in a reasonable plenty. But she 
had not cared for them nor ever con- 
templated marriage with them. Dick 
Funston got drunk. Henry Mills was 
silly, and then, anyhow, he had bow 
1^. Sam Spofford had three sisters, 
all of them lived at home, and all of 
them, including Sam, were unmiti- 
gated old maids. Hal Erskine had a 
mother who adored him and made 
him miserable with her jealousy. Ross 
Wilson had no money and no ambi- 
tion and no pride, and was content 
to live up at the Wilson place with 
his grandmother and on her slender 
bounty. Ross was mighty sweet, 
though, and the most persistent woo- 
er of them all. He had asked her to 
marry him every Tuesday and Satur- 
day night that she could remember. 
Two years ago, for a month, he had 
come in as usual on his regular nights 
and had brought with him a slip of 
paper on whidi was written: 

This is an oflFer of marriage I hereby 
present myself and all my appurtenances, 
namely to wit one coon dog (a good dog), 
one bay mare (a thoroughbred), and one 
aged grandmother (quality and qualifica- 
tions un-named) to Anne Hopkins. The 
consignor herewith presents his compli- 
ments to the consignee. She will please 
sign here." 

There was a heavy line drawn un- 
derneath, a place for Anne's name. 

On giving her the first one he 
had said, "File this away, Anne, for 
future reference. It will always be 
honored, no matter when presented," 
and then had proceeded to talk of 
other things. Each time after that 
he had placed the slip of paper in the 
chafing dish on the sideboard, mak- 
ing quite a ceremony of it, but utter- 
ing not a word. Once he had bidden 
her good-night and gone — she did not 
remember until after he had left that 
his customary ceremony at the chaf- 
ing dish had been omitted. Laugh- 
ing softly to herself she sat by the 
window and listened to his steps 
sounding down the quiet street. Just 
as he reached the comer, they had 
stopped, and then she heard him com- 
ing swiftiy back. It was the only 
time she had ever heard him walk 
fast. He bounded over the low gate 
without stopping to unfasten it, came 
to the window and as she leaned for- 
ward expectant, of she knew not what, 
he kissed her on the mouth and slipped 
the strip of paper into her surprised 
fingers, and without a word went 
away once more ; not walking rapidly, 
but with his accustomed leisurely 
stroll, hands in his pockets and head 
a little back. 

That had been two years ago. Since 
that night he had not come back. She 
did not know why and would not ask 
him. She had seen him many times, 
oftenest at the church door when she 
went in — ^he never did. There was 
nothing in his manner to denote es- 
trangement or offense. Indeed, why 
should he be either offended or es- 
tranged? His smile was sweet al- 
ways, and it was always the same 
lazy, pleasant voice that said, "How- 

Digitized by 




dy, Anne," every time. For a little 
she had wondered at it, then had 
g^own hurt, then maybe a little an- 
gry, then she had tried not to think 
about it and she wasn't quite sure 
that she had quit thinking. She had 
never destroyed one of the slips of 
paper. They were in a sandal-wood 
box on the high, old-fashioned bureau 
in her bedroom. Sometimes she 
looked at them. After a year Ross 
had gone to Mobile, to visit his grand- 
mother's brother, it was rumored. He 
had not come back. Anne infrequent- 
ly went up the hill and paid a visit 
to his grandmother, a curious little, 
old lady with a tight, wrinkled face 
and a formal manner. The two wom- 
en never spoke of Ross, but they both 
thought of him. 

Anne was pondering all these 
things in her mind, and other things, 
on the night before Christmas, as she 
sat by her fire, late. Walter Ludlow 
had come and gone. The fire in the 
grate was piled so high that she had 
been a little afraid to leave it, and, be- 
sides, January was near at hand. Her 
two trunks were all but packed, and 
their rooms in the Manhattan Hotel 
engaged for the winter. Walter had 
told her about it to-night, or rather 
he had stated the fact, and had dis- 
coursed on the fare and the service 
of the hotel, its conveniences, and its 
nearness to the theater district. She 
had listened calmly, offering no com- 
ment other than a word of agreement, 
which was all that was expected of 
her. He had only just gone, and his 
self-consdous, well groomed, slightly 
bald presence still seemed to be in 
the room. 

After a moment, Anne rose, pushed 
back the chair on which he had been 
seated, swept with a tiny hearth broom 
the hearth clean of the ashes of his 
cigar, flung, with an almost passion- 
ate gesture, into the fire, the envelope 
with the Manhattan monogram on it 
which he had left on the table, and 
moving to the window, opened it to 
the mild winter night. She stood 
there until she was thoroughly chilled, 
then closing the window, she came 

back to her chair before the fire. Pres- 
ently, she slipped to the floor and on 
her knees, with her head on her arms, 
the calmness, the indifference, the un- 
disturbed sereneness broke with a pas- 
sion of tears. The weeping did not 
last long. In an hour she was mount- 
ing the steps to her room, but it was 
long till the morning. 

The house when she came down to 
breakfast, was filled with lau^^iing and 
gift giving and Christmas glee. All 
four of the girls, Elizabeth, home for 
the holidays with her "irrevocable 
man," as she said, dropped in with 
their husbands or children, as had 
always been their habit There were 
none of Anne's four old friends but 
was on the anxious seat about her. 
They couldn't be certain of Anne un- 
til after she had said "I take this 
man" ; then they knew she'd keep her 

Ludlow was there, perfect in man- 
ner and clothes, doing his honors with 
composure. He had brought no gift 
Susie and the nieces chattered to one 
another about it, and Anne's mother 
was outraged. "He might, at least, 
have brought her flowers, carnations 
or roses or violets," she said. Anne, 
only, was her quiet self, apparently 
with no feeling and quite content To- 
gether, she and Ludlow went to serv- 
ice at the old church which breathed 
the peace and greenery of Christmas. 
Ludlow was, of course, a guest at the 
Christmas dinner, where his presence, 
one of the nieces declared, made ev- 
erybody feel like an iced cake, afraid 
to smile for fear of cracking the ic- 
ing. However, that frivolous young 
person fearlessly cracked hers and 
kept the table from gloom. 

In the afternoon, just after she and 
Ludlow started for a walk, the one 
telegraph messenger boy of the little 
town appeared at the door with a 
message for Anne. The frivolous 
niece signed for it and tripping up- 
stairs, laid it on top of the sandsd- 
wood box on Anne's bureau, and 
tripped off with her own lover to a 
Christmas gathering, from which she 
returned not until the wee hours of 

Digitized by 




the night; and what she saw when 
she passed her aunt Anne's door, she 
never forgot 

Anne and her intended, no — Lud- 
low and his intended walked all the 
afternoon until the end of Christmas 
day died in the west. They walked 
to the foot of the mountain and back, 
and he left her at the gate just as the 
dusk of the short winter day deepened 
into a night of stars. He was to re- 
turn to her later in the evening, per- 
haps in an hour, but wanted, he said, 
to go to the hotel and get his Christ- 
mas letters. But he would be back, 
yes, in an hour, and she would give 
him a cup of tea and they would have 
a long evening together — ^he wanted 
to tell her of a Christmas he had once 
spent in Spain. Anne wondered if he 
was marrying her to have somebody 
who would be obliged to listen to ac- 
counts of where he had spent his 
various Christmases. She watched 
him disappear in the shadows of the 
darkening street with a feeling that 
smothered, giving place to one of re- 
lief — for would she not be free for an 
hour? Then it came upon her with a 
mighty awakening that she could not 
marry him. Marry him, live with 
him, listen to him, never be free 
again! No. Not for New York, not 
for Cuba, not for Europe, not for a 
house and servants, not for comfort 
and ease for herself and relief from 
the monotony of life, not to help her 
father along nor the girls nor Susie, 
not for the heavens above, nor the 
earth beneath nor the waters under 
the earth would she ! She ran up the 
kmg walk to the house. She opened 
the door and went into the sitting 
room. She removed her hat and wrap. 
She stood by the mantel, then at the 
window, then dropped into her chair. 
The chair drawn near to hers by 
Susie in anticipation of their return, 
she pushed away from her, and then 
drew her own up to it. She leaned 
forward a little and spoke to him as 
if he were in it "I won't — and I am 

not even sorry. I won't and that's 
all I feel." 

After a half hour she went out in 
the dining room. She placed beaten 
biscuit, slices of cold turkey and two 
slender glasses of wine on a silver 
tray. This she set on a small table 
between their chairs in the sitting 
room. On the opposite side of her 
own chair she pulled forward the low 
tea table, filled the alcohol lamp, and 
picking up the little copper teakettle, 
went to the kitchen and filled it with 
fresh water. 

So, with entertainment ready for 
Ludlow's inner man, she waited for 
him, calm, resolved. She would tell 
him after he had lunched. It would 
be more courteous, he would like it 
better. She smiled at the thought. 

Punctual to the minute, he re- 
turned, full of talking, full of him- 
self, interested in his mail and what 
he had to say, and not, for an instant 
thinking it possible that she could be 
otherwise than he. Anne bided her 
time. He ate his lunch finally, en- 
joying it and her beauty. She ate with 
him outwardly passive. Inwardly, 
there gathered the storm which would 
presently break. It had been a habit, 
for these little tea-time lunches had 
been introduced at his suggestion ear- 
ly in the days of their engagement, 
for each to lift the wineglass, touch 
it with the lips and then pass it to 
the other. He spoke of it very pret- 
tily and quoted "drink to me only with 
thine eyes," with entirely the correct 
feeling. He greatly admired Anne's 

To-night, she drank from her own 
glass, offering neither salute of the 
lips nor exchange. If he noticed it he 
did not remark upon it, his attention 
at the moment being centered on him- 

He watched her with evident pleas- 
ure, however, as she removed the ta- 
ble from between them. He drew 
his chair closer to hers and lightly 
kissed the fingers that handed him his 
cup of tea. They talked, or he did, of 
the aroma and flavor of certain teas. 

Digitized by 




and he told her of an adventure of his 
in Japan in a tea shop there, and of 
a rare and expensive bit of lacquered 
ware he had purchased. 

She was about to break into his 
narrative with matter of more vivid 
interest to her than a Japanese waiter, 
when he put his hand in his pocket 
and brought out a package. ''I have 
brought you a Christmas present, 
Anne. I hope you will like them — I 
think them rather good." 

A fraction disconcerted, she opened 
the package. It contained a dozen 
full-length photographs of Ludlow. 
She pidced up one, looked at it un- 
seeing, and replacing it on the others 
in her lap, was about to speak. He 
had watched her — ^what he saw in 
her face is open to conjecture, but 
he spoke, asking for a glass of water. 
Immediately, she arose with the pic- 
tures in her hand. He opened the 
door for her, never forgetful or neg- 
lectful of the little courtesies of life, 
and asked if he might be allowed to 
get the water for himself. She shook 
her head, laughing a little. In the din- 
ing room she encountered Susie, the 
widow indeed. 

"What on earth, Anne? Are you 
sick? Where are you going? Has 
your sweetheart gone? What's that 
you have?" came like so many shots 
from a pop g^n. Anne handed her 
the pictures, saying, ''My Christmas 
present." At which Susie poured forth 
a stream of ejaculation. "For mercy's 
sake! Is this all? His picture! 
Twelve of them! For pity's sake! 
Is this the best he can do? And he's 
worth a half million, and some say a 
million, if he's worth thirty cents! 
Mighty little comfort you'll get out 
of being married to him ! Well, I do 
say! He thinks he's good looking, 
too— you can see that all over him, 
and bisdd as an egg! Did you ever?" 
Anne left while the shots rang thick- 
est and securing the water, returned 
to the sitting room. Ludlow took the 
water, rising from his chair and com- 
ing hastily forward. He set the glass 
down and placing the arm of posses- 
sion across Anne's shoulders, drew 

her over to the table. She slipped 
from his arm with her breath coming 
rather quickly and followed the di- 
rection of his pointing finger. L)ring 
on the table was a flat box, a jewel- 
er's box, satin-lined, and partly in it 
and partly on the table, lay a very ex- 
quisite necklace of rubies. 

"These are for you, Anne. They are 
Oriental gems. I got them in Stam- 
boul. I gave you the pictures first, 
knowing, of course, that being pic- 
tures of me they should be more val- 
uable to you than any gift, and all- 
suflicient. Yet the women of this cen- 
tury are become so tainted with the 
mercenary spirit that I really felt jus- 
tified as it were in trying you with 
the photographs simply of the man 
who is going to make you his wife, 
before offering you the jewels. It is 
this same motive which has prompted 
me during our engagement to refrain 
from showering upon you costly pres- 
ents, I wished to be preferred for my- 
self alone." 

What monstrous thing was the man 
saying? She hardly heard him. She 
did not touch the jewels, but with a 
hand resting on the table, spoke diat 
which made him forget the rubies, 
even for a little, forget himself. 

"I am not going to marry you. No. 
You must see it is not possible. You 
should have seen it in time to prevent 
your having ever asked me. I did 
see it, yet I accepted your offer at its 
face value. You had tried everything 
except marriage to relieve the mo- 
notony of your life. I was willing to 
try an)rthing, even marriage, to re- 
lieve the monotony of mine. It was 
risk with both of us, with me the 
most, of necessity — with me the most 
Now, as I draw near the time when 
I am to leave myself and be your self, 
I find that I cannot do it I should 
have told you sooner, but I did not 
know it really — that I could not be 
your wife. I mean that, could not — 
until this afternoon. And I have 
wanted to tell you all the evening, 
but you were busy talking." She did 
not mean the irony. She simply 
meant what she said. 

Digitized by 




"Is it possible?" breathed Ludlow, 
unable to understand that he was 
Ludlow. And then another thought 
came to him : "Is it possible that there 
is another man? I can see no other 
reason for this — I can see no reason 
whatever for this most unexpected 
and unwarrantable — " 

"It is quite possible that there 
should be another man." Her voice 
was controlled, "but it has nothing 
to do with the situation at present." 

"There is nothing for me to say if 
your decision is final." 

"My decision is unalterable." Lud- 
low gathered up the gems, placed 
them in the box, snapped it shut, and 
at the door he said : "The pictures can 
be returned to me at the hotel. I 
shall be there until the eleven o'clock 
train in the morning." The door 
closed and he was gone. 

Anne went up to her room, and it 
was there by her table that the frivo- 
lous niece saw her and never forgot 
the sight. 

Anne, in her white gown, ready 
for bed, with her hair in two long 
braids falling on either side of the 
magnolia face, an open sandal-wood 
box beside the spread sheet of yellow 
telegram on the table, and Anne, 
writing her name on slip after slip 
of paper which she took from the 
sandal-wood box, kissing every sepa- 
rate slip of paper and patting the 
telegram each time she finished writ- 
ing her name. Her eyes of October 
dropped now and again tears that 
Ross Wilson would have given his 
whole last year's salary to see. 

The telegram read: 

Coming tomorrow Can't help it Sec 
chafing dish for further particulars. 


(A Plantation Legend Told in Verse by Old Wash ) 

Christmus week in de 'forties an' we-all wuz feelin' fine, 
Egg-nog flowed in a silver bowl wid de juice uv de muscadine. 
We fiddled all day in de cabin, we danced all night in de hall, 
An' now de Big House all lit up fur de white fo'ks Christmus ball. 
Dey danced de old Ferginny, dey ripped and r'ar'd to de jig, 
An' when dey got emuff uv dat t'wuz whisky an' roasted pig — 
(But dat ain't de tale a-pesterin' me — ^jes' listen at dis ole nig!) 

Den cum de nuts an' de apples, de speechifyin' an' toasts ; 

"Did you ur'r see a nigger/* ole Marster axed, "dat didn't Vleeve in ghosts^' 

He sed it wid winks a-laffin' an' de cump'ny all sed, "No!" 

An' den I bowed wid a curt'sy bow an' a backward scrape uv my toe : 

"May it please you, Marster, white fo'ks all, now dafs intended fur me. 

But heah's a nigger dat ain't a^skeered of ghost es, es you shall see! 

Trot out yo' sperrits," sez I, "dis night — fum spooks to good whisky!" 

Den Marster laflf wid a great big laff, an' wink wid a mighty wink — 
Sez he: "Heah's ten uv de Eaglets coin ef you ha'f es game es you think. 

Digitized by 



Now you go up to de ha'nted house nigh de graveyahd whar dey sleep, 
An' if you stay tell de break uv day, dis ten am your^n to keep!" 
"May it please you, Marster, white fo'ks all," sed I wid anu'rr bow, 
"/ nuver heerd nuthin' servig'ous es dat, nut look es good, I vow. 
Ifs pickin' it up in de road," sez I, "an' I'll start fur dat money nowf 

I tuck three drinks an' started out fur de house in de lonely wood, 

I trotted along in de moonlight dim an' whistled es loud es I cu'd. 

I seed de spot by de cabin do' whar de muhdered man wuz foun', 

An' it wuz ba'r, fur de grass wouldn't g^oyf on dat ar spot uv grotm'. 

But I knowed I hadn't done nuffin' to him, so I opens de creechy do'. 

An' de win' hit moan th'oo de crevice crack an' den hit moan some mo' :— 

Zo — o — o — Zoo, it say, an' den — ^my Lawd! Meow — me — o! 

My blood froze stiff, fur dar in de room a great big black cat stood, 

Wid eyes es big es a risin' moon an' a tail like a bushy wood. 

An' he sot his great big yaller eyes on mine fur a cunjer spell. 

An' roun' an' roim' he circled roun' entidn' me to hell I 

But I kep' my eyes on dem demon eyes fur I knowed ^f de spell wa'nt broke 

He'd gallop wid me to hell an' back in de twis' of de witch's yoke ! 

Roun* an* roun' wid his witch's eyes, an' n'ar one uv us spoke. 

At las' he see it wouldn't wuck, an' den he climi on a cheer 
An' put his paw right under his jaw an' spit out blue ambeer ! 
An' den he tuck sum brimstone snuflf f 'um a box uv fiah, an' shakes 
His tail tell ev'ry ha'r stood da'r, an Lawd! dey wuz little snakes! 
An' den he laff a 'sateful laff an' sez he, "How-do-you-do? 
Does you kno' dar ain't nobody heah but des' us bully boys two? 
Sez I, as I tuck a runnin' start, sez I, "Dis leaves des' you!" 

I run tell I drap on a san' bank five miles by de wil<Jgoose trail, 

Wid little witches playin' craps on de flap uv my ole coat tail. 

Bellussed an' winded I had to drap, but I'd hardly hit de san' 

Befo' dar cum in his grabe-clothes de deades' kind uv a man! 

But he hilt de head uv a still deader man in 'is arms an' hit grinned an spit, 

An' puckered his lips an' sed: "Ole man you sho'ly kin run a bit!" 

"My Lawd!" sez I, a starin' erg'in, "You hain't seed no runnin' yit!" 


Digitized by 



By Anna Erwin Woods 

[Arranged from the papers and personal memolri of Andrew Brwin] 


Captain Leonard Helm was ap- 
pointed commandant at St Vincent's 
and agent for Indian affairs in the 
department of the Wabash. This of- 
ficer had been particularly recom- 
mended to Qark for his knowledge 
of the department, and the general 
prudence of his character. As things 
turned out, Qark's judgment of Helm 
was in keeping with his usual sagaci- 
ty in reading men. 

It was just after these occurrences 
at St. Vincent's that our commander 
found himself in the midst of a new 
perplexity. The three months for 
which his troops had been enlisted had 
expired. It is not to be presumed, 
however, that a man so fertile in re- 
sources as our leader would be daunt- 
ed by circtmistances by which an or^ 
dinary military man would be ren- 
dered helpless. Regarding, not the lim- 
its of his authority, but the preserva- 
tion of the interest for which it had 
been conferred upon him, he re-en- 
listed his men upon a new footing; 
raised a company among the French 
inhabitants commanded by their own 
officers; and established garrisons at 
each of the forts. 

The captive British commandant of 
Kaskaslda was sent to Virginia in 
charge of an officer; a report was 
sent to Governor Patrick Henry of 
the whole of Qark's proceedings ; and 
a request made for the appointment of 
a civil commandant who should take 
diarge of the political affairs of this 
far-away portion of the Virginia com- 

^Begnn in Uie May Issue. 

monwealth. Far away it was, indeed, 
for we were separated by fifteen hun- 
dred miles of wilderness from Wil- 
liamsburg, the seat of government; 
and we were many hundreds of miles 
from our nearest friends in Kentucky. 

Notwithstanding a success so great- 
ly beyond his means, and almost be- 
yond his expectations, the uneasiness 
of Qark was great. He fully appre- 
ciated our critical situation and the ne- 
cessity for exerting all the address of 
which he was master. Every influence 
was required to counteract the agen- 
cy and control of the British, who had 
distributed the bloody belt and hatch- 
et among the Indians throughout the 
whole region of Lake Superior and 
the Mississippi. Had we been joined 
by every man from Kentucky and 
many from Virginia, we could not 
have resisted these warlike tribes by 

In order to conceal the rashness of 
our invasion of the Illinois, and the 
desperate danger of our situation, we 
were instructed to speak constantly 
of our fort at the Falls of the Ohio; 
of that being the headquarters of our 
army, of which we were only a de- 
tachment; and of the reinforcements 
daily expected. Indeed, Qark left no 
means unused to strengthen his in- 
fluence and authority among those 
by whom we were surrounded. 

Having succeeded, with only his ri- 
fle troops, in capturing three of the 
strongest British forts armed with 
cannon; and having secured the ac- 
tive co-operation of th6 French, he 
evinced, more than ever, an ardent de- 

Digitized by 




sire to secure the good will of the 
Spaniards across the Mississippi. This 
being considered by him a matter of 
most serious importance, we were in- 
structed to cultivate a good under- 
standing with the Spanish and also 
with the French inhabitants of St. 

There was one young man among 
us who joyously announced his de- 
termination to zealously obey this or- 
der; and I will tell you why. 

Upon M. Cerr^'s return home, he 
had brought to Mademoiselle Adri- 
enne a message from her father ad- 
vising her to come to St Louis at the 
earliest moment practicable. We had 
known that her home was in that 
town, and that she was only on a vis- 
it to her aunt at the time of our unex- 
pected arrival. 

When Gordon first heard of the 
wish expressed by M. Soularde (Ad- 
rienne's father) that she should re- 
turn home, he was in despair. I well 
knew that it made no difference where 
she might be, for wherever it was he 
would soon follow, so I was not as- 
tonished when, a few days after her 
going he exclaimed: 

"&x>d luck, Ned! Look upon the 
happiest man in the Illinois! I am 
to bear dispatches to Bowman, to re- 
main with him until further orders. 
May they be long in coming!" 

After a few moments of silence, 
during which he seemed to be in a 
very pleasant reverie, he resumed his 
confidences : 

"Ned, do you not understand that 
Qark wishes us to cultivate pleasant 
relations with the St. Louis people? 
By Jove ! I always obey a command- 
er like ours, who would not hesi- 
tate to have one shot for disobedi- 
ence. He ordered me to guard the 
home of M. Cerr^, and I did it with 
all my heart. Now he wishes us to 
make friends in St. Louis, and I shall 
spend the greater part of my time on 
the western side of the Mississippi, 
trying, by every means in my power, 
to gain the regard of some of those 
people. Pierre Chenier is still at Ca- 
hokia> and I can persuade him to go 

over there with me; he has relatives 
in St. Louis. Good-bye, Ned — you 
will never know what it is to live un- 
til you fall in love !" 

Clark's treaties with the Indians 

Our commander now found him- 
self so placed that his attention could 
be given to the Indians. The most war- 
like tribes upon the whole western con- 
tinent were those by whom we, less 
than two hundred men, were sur- 
rounded; and the danger of our sit- 
uation was such that it was necessary* 
to gain a mastery over them without 
bloodshed. Qark's negotiations with 
these savages were conducted in the 
same remarkable spirit of strong, sa- 
gacious daring which had stamped his 
course heretofore. He had long been 
interested in studying Indian char- 
acter ; and had made himself intimate- 
ly acquainted with the French and 
Spanish modes of treating them. "I 
determined," he said afterward, "to 
guard against spoiling them, as was 
too much the case with the English, 
who were constantly inviting them to 
treaties and giving them presents. I 
believed in fighting them until they 
would request a treaty. Placed as we 
were in the Illinois, it was necessary 
to make them afraid of us. I had two 
good points in my hand, the French 
treaty, and the good-will of the 
French inhabitants; for the rest I 
had to depend upon myself." 

The English were not much re- 
garded by the Indians, who served 
them only for pay. They despised 
Spaniards, and dreaded the Ameri- 
cans ; but the French they had alwa)rs 
loved. Two centuries of tact and kind 
treatment, especially from the French 
priests, had strengthened this feeling. 

The wise and rightful spirit which 
Qark exhibited toward their ancient 
and beloved Church won for us, not 
only the services of Pere Gibault 
(who subsequently received the pub- 
lic thanks of Virginia) but also the 
friendship of his parishioners, which 
resulted in the active co-operation of 

Digitized by 




the French interest ; and was produc- 
tive of most valuable results in under- 
mining the British influence through- 
out a large portion of those regions. 

Through Pere Gibault, messages 
were interchanged with an Indian 
chief whose title was the Grand Door 
of the Wabash ; and, in fact, nothing 
of any importance was undertaken re- 
specting the whole Wabash country 
without the consent of this chief. He 
resided near St. Vincent's and Cap- 
tain Helm was instructed to use ev- 
ery influence to win him over. 

I had been sent to St. Vincent's to 
take a letter from Colonel Qark 
which Captain Helm delivered, in an 
Indian council, to the Grand Door as 
a friendly talk from the American 
commander, inviting him to unite with 
the Long Knife (as they called Vir- 
ginia) and his old Father, the King 
of France. With the usual circum- 
spection of the Indian character, the 
diief declined to make any answer 
to the talk until he had assembled his 

The dignity which was observed by 
the Grand Door was exactly followed 
by Captain Helm ; and, in this way, it 
was several days before the council 
was concluded. At length, Helm was 
invited to attend a meeting of the 
chiefs. All being assembled, the 
Grand Door said: 

"The sky has been very dark with 
the war between the Long Knife and 
the English ; but now it is cleared up. 
The Long Knife was in the right; and, 
perhaps if the English conquer them, 
they will serve the Indians the same 
way." Then he jumped up and struck 
his breast and said: "I have always 
been a man and a warrior, and now 
I am a Long Knife; and I will tell 
the red people to bloody the land no 
more for the English." He then shook 
hands with Captain Helm, and his ex- 
ample was followed by all the chiefs. 

The Grand Door remained always 
a true friend to the Americans, and 
his conduct had a wide influence on 
many chiefs in causing them to make 
peace. At his ovra request, when he 
died be was buried with 4II tb^ hon- 

ors of war near the fort at Cahokia. 
The last time I was in St. Louis, I 
• went across the river to visit the grave 
of this good chief whom I had Imown 
and esteemed. 

Soon after my return from St Vin- 
cent's, I accompanied Colonel Qark 
to an Indian council which he had 
been requested to attend at Cahokia. 
Immediately upon our arrival I tried 
to find Gordon, and was by no means 
surprised to learn that he and Pierre 
Chenier were both across the river at 
St Louis, where, I was told, they 
passed a good deal of their time. It 
was not until the evening of the fol- 
lowing day that I met them upon their 
return to Cahokia. 

"By the heathen god of war, and 
Venus too !" exclaimed Gordon, greet- 
ing me in the most affectionate man- 
ner, "I am delighted to see you, Ned. 
I have ten thousand things to talk 

"We will have a talk as soon as 
possible," I replied. "Just now the 
Commander keeps me in such close 
attendance upon him at this council 
that I have not a moment to spare." 

"Oh, those everlasting Indians I" 
said Gordon impatiently. "There are 
swarms of them around Cahokia 
waiting for Qark. We will be sick 
unto death with their pow-pows." 

"No," I answered. "We will be 
made sicker by their tomahawks, if 
Qark does not have the pow-pows. I 
think he knows how to get along with 
Indians. I have seen something of 
them myself ; we have plenty of them 
down in our country, in Washington 
District ; a good many more than you 
have in Virginia. You tide-water peo- 
ple know nothing about Indians these 
days; and I don't believe you ever 
did. We people in the Wilderness un- 
derstand them — ^at least, we have 
learned by this time to expect from 
them 'only lies, scalping-knives and 

Upon the opening of the council at 
Cahokia, as the Indians were the so- 
licitors, one of the chiefs advanced 
to the table where Colonel Qark was 
sitting. This chief bore in bis hand 

Digitized by 




a belt of peace ; another came forward 
with the sacred pipe ; and a third with 
the fire to kindle it. After the pipe 
was lighted, it was presented to the 
heavens, then to the earth, and com- 
pleting the circle, was presented to 
all the spirits, invoking them to wit- 
ness what was about to be done. The 
pipe was then presented to Colonel 
Qark and after him to every person 
present. When these formalities were 
all finished, addressing himself to the 
Indians, the speaker (a chief) said: 

"Warriors, you ought to be thank- 
ful that the Great Spirit has taken 
pity on you and cleared the sky, and 
opened your hearts so that you may 
hear the truth. We have been de- 
ceived by bad birds flying through the 
land [meaning the British emissa- 
ries] ; but we will take up the bloody 
hatchet no more against the Long 
Knife ; and we hope that as the Great 
Spirit has brought us together for 
good, so we may be received as 
friends, and peace may take the place 
of the bloody belt." 

The speaker then threw the belt of 
wampum and tlie flags which they 
had received from the British into the 
middle of the room and stamped up- 
on them as token of rejection. 

Qark's reply was distant and 
guarded. *1 have paid attention to 
what has been said, and I will give an 
answer to-morrow," he said, "when 
I hope the hearts of all people will be 
ready to receive the truth. But I rec- 
ommend you to keep prepared for the 
result of this council upon which your 
existence as a nation depends. I de- 
sire that you do not permit any of our 
people to shake hands with you, as 
peace is not yet made; and it is time 
enough to give the hand when the 
heart can be given also." 

This speech excited the admiration 
of the warriors. "Such sentiments 
are like men who have but one hearty 
and do not speak with forked 
tongues," said they. 

The council assembled next day and 
Qark delivered another remarkable 
speech. He explained to them fully 
the cause of the trouble between Eng- 

land and the colonies. "I am a man 
and a warrior," he declared in an 
earnest tone, "not a councillor ; I car- 
ry war in my right hand, and in my 
left peace." He ended by saying, "I 
am convinced you never heard the 
truth before. I do not wish you to 
answer before you have taken time 
to counsel. We will, therefore, part 
this evening, and when the Great 
Spirit shall bring us together again, 
let us speak and think like men with 
but one heart and one tongue." 

A new fire was kindled the next 
day with more than usual ceremony, 
and the chief said among other things : 
"We have paid great attention to what 
the Great Spirit has put into your 
heart to say to us. We believe the 
whole to be the truth, for the Long 
Knife does not speak like any other 
people we have ever heard. We now 
see that we have been deceived; the 
English have told us lies; and you 
told us the truth, >ust as some of our 
old men have always told us. 

"We now believe that the Long 
Knife is in the right. The English 
have forts in our country, and if they 
get strong enough, they want to serve 
5ie red people as they have treated 
the Long Knife. Therefore, the red 
people ought to help the Long Knife, 
and with cheerful hearts take up the 
belt of peace and spurn the bdt of 
war; and determine to hold fast, for 
we do not doubt your friendship, from 
the manner of your speaking, so dif- 
ferent from the English. 

"We will call in our warriors and 
throw the tomahawk into the river 
where it can never be found. We will 
suffer no more bad birds to fly 
through the land, disquieting women 
and children. Our friends shall hear 
of the good talk you have given us; 
and we hope you will send chiefs 
among them with your eyes to see 
themselves that they are men, and 
strictly stand by all tliat is said at this 
great fire, whidi the Great Spirit has 
kindled at Cahokia for the good of 
all people who attend it." The pipe 
was again kindled and smoked and the 
council concluded by the shaking of 

Digitized by 




hands of all the parties white and red. 
In this same manner, with very little 
variety, treaties were concluded with 
a great many tribes. Colonel Oark 
adhered resolutely to his determina- 
tion not to cajole them. So well con- 
solidated was his influence that a sin- 
gle soldier could be sent in safety 
among the Indians throughout any 
part of the Wabash and Illinois coun- 
try, to the heads of the waters dis- 
charging into the lakes and into the 

As I was in close attendance upon 
Colonel Clark during the whole time 
that he was making these treaties, I 
saw very little of Gordon. I knew 
he was frequently absent from Cahok- 
ia, and that he spent the most of his 
time in St. Louis. The Commander 
was aware of this and seemed not to 
object to it. 

Gordon was such a handsome, at- 
tractive man, so noble and courteous 
in his bearing, and so brave and gen- 
erous in character, that there could 
not have been selected among us one 
who would be more calculated to 
make a pleasing impression, and es- 
tablish friendly relations with the 
Spanish and French on the west side 
of the Mississippi. 

There was only one thing which 
caused me anxiety. He was very 
young; and I recalled how headstrong 
and indiscreet I had been at the same 
age (I was a few years older than 
he) and I thought Gordon fully as 
unwise as I had been. He was a man 
of tremendous strength of nature; 
and the feeling which had arisen in 
his heart for Mademoiselle Adrienne 
Soularde held complete possession of 
him. If anything should conflict with 
that I feared the result. I was, there- 
fore, not much surprised when Pierre 
Chenier came to me, one day, and 

"I must talk to you. Charlie Gor- 
don is in trouble." 

"I have been expecting to hear 
that," was my reply. ''What is it?" 

"He is slightly woimded;" said 
Chenier, "and it is only by good luck 
that he is not dead. You lutd better 

go over to St. Louis with me this 
evening and talk to him yourself. 
Don't say anything to the Command- 
er about it until we see further." 

"We will start within an hour," I 
promised, knowing that I could get 
leave of absence to go immediately. 

"Eh bien!" said Chenier, "I shall 
wait for you." 

On our way Chenier related to me 
what had occurred. 

"You know, of course," he said, 
"Gordon's feeling about Adrienne; 
and, I presume, it is not necessary to 
tell you that the trouble is in connec- 
tion with that. There is a young 
Spaniard in St. Louis, Don Pedro de 
Castillo, who has been devoted to Ad- 
rienne for a year past. She has never 
seemed to favor his suit, although 
her father and family thought so well 
of it that there was, at one time, talk 
of a bethrothal. The young man is 
handsome and attractive in the way 
these Spaniards are, and of a very in- 
fluential family. He has a cousin here, 
Don Guadalupe de Calvo y Ramio, 
who is most highly considered. For 
my part, I look upon his connection 
with Don Guadalupe as Pedro's best 

"When Adrienne came back to St. 
Louis and Gordon soon after followed 
her, you may judge of the condition 
which resulted between the two young 
rivals. I knew there would be war 
but hoped it might be carried on in 
a reasonable way. Adrienne is so 
wise and good, so little coquette, that 
I trusted a great deal to her. The 
right kind of a woman, you know, can 
usually arrange these things." 

"I agree with you," I said, inter- 
rupting him, "and, especially, I agree 
with you in saying that Mademoiselle 
Adrienne is good and wise." 

"Eh bien!" continued Chenier; 
"very soon Gordon began to lose his 
head entirely; and, I think, the devil 
got into Pedro, for I suspect him of a 
very black deed. It so happened 
that one day we spoke together, Pe- 
dro and I. I know no Spanish and he 
knows no French. His English is 
something remarkable ; and, although 

Digitized by 




I can get along with English well 
enough when I am good-humored, 
when I am the least ang^ or excited, 
I become as much tangled up as 
Pedro does. 

"He said, 'Senor, I haf sohm 
throvl, sohm verree bad throvl I weesh 
to espeak to you about. Thees Don 
Carlos Gordon, — ^he eez amigo weeth 
you — eez freen* weeth you — es vero, 

" 'Yes,' I said, 'it is true that Don 
Carlos Gordon is my friend. But 
I am sorry to hear that you have trou- 
ble, Don Pedro, and I hope it can be 

" 'Nunca, nunca, — ^nevaire can that 
throvl be arrange. Don Carlos, he 
lofe la senorita Adrienne, but I swear- 
ar to you, Senor, eet eez not possee- 
blee to heem to lofe her lak I lofe 

" 'Eh bien ! Don Pedro,' I said, 'I am 
not able to judge of that You should, 
however, give Gordon an equal chance 
with yourself to show how much he 
loves the senorita.' 

" 'Nevaire, no,' said Pedro, his eyes 
flashing with anger at the suggestion 
of Gordon's having any chance to 
gain Adrienne. 'Tambien, I weesh 
to marry with her. Madre de DiosI 
eef he marry with her, caramba! I 
weel keel heem ! I weel cut heem een 
thee heart, by the madre de Dios, I 
weel do thees I* 

" 'Escus-ar me, Sefior,* he continued, 
apparently trying to control himself, 
'pardon-ar me, but I weel tell to you 
what mak all la dificultad. Eet eez 
Don Carlos — ^he mak lofe too much 
to la senorita. Santa Maria ! I weesh 
to tell to you, Senor, I keel heem be- 
fore that he shall make so much lofe 
to her !' 

"Bon Dieu !" said Chenier, "he was 
so beside himself that I saw I could 
do nothing. So saying 'Adios' aloud 
and 'al diablo* under my breath, I left 
him in order to seek Gordon and see 
what could be done with him." 

"And did you find him amenable to 
reason?" I inquired. 

"Alas, no. He was even more un- 
manageable than Pedro had been. 

'The little brown devil,'" he said, 
speaking with his teeth firmly set to- 
gether and his voice hoarse with pas- 
sion. 'To dare to talk of marr3ang 
Adrienne ! I will put a bullet through 
his heart !' 

" 'Gordon,' I said, 'I know these 
Spaniards, and you must be care- 

"'Careful!' he exclaimed, white 
with anger and his voice trembling 
with excitement. 'I know their dev- 
iltry and their lies ; and I will silence 
them. Yes, by Jove! I will silence 
them as surely as I live!* 

"I consigned him to the devil, along 
with the other hot-head, and went in 
search of Don Guadalupe. When I 
had told him how furiously blood- 
thirsty each one had become at the 
thought of the other marrying Ad- 
rienne, he cried whimsically: 'Ah, it 
is this love that makes fools; let it 
be a Spanish fool or an English fool, 
it is always love. Enough ! Long live 
love ! long live youth !' 

"You see," continued Chenier, "he 
did not see the importance of the mat- 
ter just at first, but I urged it upon 

" 'It is not a question of two mere 
madmen,' I told him, 'but of the 
security of Qark and his followers. 
Above all things, the American com- 
mander wishes just now, to be on 
friendly terms with the Spanish au- 
thorities on the west side of the river, 
for the British may come down upon 
us from Canada at any moment, and 
in that event we must be able to cross 
the Mississippi into friendly territory. 
It is out of all reason to risk such a 
complication as may arise from the 
rashness of these two young fools. 
If Gordon kills Don Pedro, as I think 
he will, your governor may be forced 
to take such action as might be dis- 
astrous to Colonel Qark's plans.' 

"'Dios mio!' said Don Guadalupe, 
looking very grave. 'I had not 
thought of that. Toma! this love 
affair is likely to become a matter to 
be handled with diplomatic skill.' 

" 'If,' I remarked, 'I had Gordon at 
Cahokia, I would tell everything to 

Digitized by 




Clark, and he could make things safe 
by keeping him under guard. But I 
am sure that I cannot, for the pres- 
ent, get him away from St Louis. 
What can you do with Pedro?' 

" 'Quien sabe?' was the Don's reply. 
'I will see the governor at once. He 
feels very kindly toward Qark, and 
I believe in his heart he detests the 
British. I am sure I do, and I hope 
that Qark will rid us of them. I will 
advise you, then, before long. Hasta 
la vista, amigo mio.' 

"Before nightfall he infonned me 
that the governor had found a pre- 
text for having Pedro placed under 
guard and I at once sought Gordon. 
Finding that he had gone to pass the 
evening at M. Soularde's, and feeling 
relieved of anxiety, I went to my own 

"It was almost midnight when I 
was awakened by a messenger who 
brought the news that Gordon was 
lying at M. Soularde's house danger- 
ously woimded and would probably 
die. Upon reaching him, however, I 
found tile wound not so serious, and 
Charlie able to tell me what had hap- 

' "Thank heaven," I ejaculated, 
"that he had you to turn to !" 

"He said the assassin had been, 
without doubt, in hiding, waiting for 
him to come out of the house. As he 
descended the steps he observed a 
shadow, and it was in turning quickly 
to look at it more carefully that he 
probably saved his life. The knife 
which was intended to pass through 
his heart, only cut his arm and that 
not very seriously. As he was struck, 
he made a dash at the assailant, at 
the same moment giving a loud call, 
which brought M. Soularde quickly 
to the spot. Finding that he had failed 
in his attempt to strike a fatal blow, 
the assassin had immediately fled. 

"The .violence of the blow and the 
loss of blood caused Gordon to lose 
consciousness, and upon reaching 
him, M. Soularde thought he was 
dead; but as soon as an examination 
was made, it was seen that the wound 
was not very serious." 

"Was he able to give any descrip- 
tion of his assailant?" I asked. 

"Why, strangely enough, he says 
the assassin was an Indian. Do you 
understand how that could be? If it 
is a fact, it suggests a very black deed 
to my mind." 

We walked the rest of the way in 
silence, pondering over the mystery. 

"Ned," said Chariie, after I had 
greeted him, "the man who tried to 
kill me was an Indian. I am as sure 
of it as I am that I live. And the 
blow was certainly meant for me, for 
as I passed out of the doorway the 
moon shone full in my face, as bright 
as daylight. He saw me as plainly as 
I see you standing there. I noticed 
the shadow and thought nothing of 
it but, in an instant, that little sly, 
Spanish devil, Pedro, came into my 
mind, and this caused me to turn 
quickly, else that knife would have 
gone straight through my heart, as it 
was intended. They thought I would 
fall dead without even a groan. But 
I will find that Indian if he is on this 
continent, and make him tell the 
truth, if it costs my life." 

"'I don't know, Gordon," I said; 
"what to make of its being an In- 

"Well, if you don't, I do," he ex- 
claimed angrily; "I know Pedro was 
under guard. Chenier has told me 
about that; but some of his accursed 
Spanish dollars gave me that cut — " 

"For God's sake, Gordon, hush! 
you are talking wildly," I cried, in- 
terrupting him. "You will ruin us by 
your imprudence. You know Pedro's 
family are people of the highest im- 
portance in New Orleans, and his 
relatives here are immensely influen- 
tial; and these Spaniards are full of 
pride and revenge. We must, at all 
hazards, steer clear of invoking their 
anger. We have no idea what the 
British are planning against us — ^they 
may send a force from Canada at any 
moment, and Colonel Qark considers 
it of the utmost importance to keep on 
friendly terms with these Spaniards." 

My earnestness failed to affect' the 
wounded youth. 

Digitized by 




"There is one of them would go 
to purgatory too quick to make his 
confession, if I could lay my hands 
upon him," said he, threateningly. "I 
know pretty well what he would have 
to confess." 

"Even if what you suspect should 
be true," I answered, trying to turn 
his thoughts into a lighter channel, 
"admitting that you owe your pres- 
ent position to him, why should you 
feel any resentment? It seems to me 
you ought to be grateful to any one 
who had a hand in placing you under 
the roof with Mademoiselle Adrienne, 
and only badly enough wounded to be 
interesting. Don Pedro would, be- 
yond doubt, exchange places with you 

This suggestion acted like a charm 
in restoring the young man's good 
humor ; and he laughed heartily in pic- 
turing Pedro's discomfiture when he 
realized how things had turned out; 
he under guard, not able to see Ad- 
rienne; and Gordon domesticated in 
her home, receiving from her kind 
sympathy for the suffering and dan- 
ger which he had risked, as it were, 
upon her account 

"By all the saints he worships!" 
he cried out triumphantly, "I'll not 
send him to purgatory, for I think he 
is there already." 

Upon returning to Cahokia I found 
Qark occupied with a chief by the 
name of Blackbird, who had been in 
St. Louis when our invasion was first 
made; but had sent the American 

commander a letter apologizing for 
his absence. Upon inquiry, Clark 
found that he was a chief of great 
importance, possessing influence over 
considerable territory bordering on 
Lake Michigan; and, consequently, 
the commander departed from his 
usual distant policy and invited the 
chief to visit him, sending a special 
messenger to convey this invitation. 

Blackbird arrived with only eight 
attendants ; and observing that prepa- 
rations were being made for the usual 
great council, he sagaciously sug- 
gested that no time be lost in cere- 
monials, as he had come on business. 
He declared that he wanted much con- 
versation with the American com- 
mander, and would prefer sitting at 
the same table with him to all the 
formality that could be used. 

Colonel Qark readily undertook to 
satisfy him on every point; but, com- 
pelled as he was to employ similes for 
so many ideas foreign to barbarous 
society, it took him nearly half a day 
to answer the inquiries of the chief. 
This was finally accomplished, how- 
ever, to the satisfaction of this in- 
telligent and powerful Indian, who 
expressed himself convinced that the 
Americans were entirely in the right. 

"I am glad," said Blackbird, "that 
our old friends,, the French, have 
united their arms with yours ; and the 
Indians ought to do the same." 

"No," replied Colonel Clafk; "we 
do not wish the Indians to fight for 

Digitized by 



d place 
^our fac 
. t to frc 

Would you rather not possess it 
Casting reason into rhyme, 
And unthinking for the time 
That the rose by you untaken 
Were a sweeter rose forsaken? 

Yes, you would, but won't confess 


If some one should pass your vision — 
Whorls of gold and filmy lace — 
And should smile into your face — 
Would your features frame a frowr 
Or be gathered like a clown 

In a smirk of calm derision? 


Would you always be impelled 
By such well-contained restraint 
That no thought of maid or flowers 
Would disturb your somber hours — 
Neither penetrate your mood — 
Then, I'd call you thing of wood 

In a slavish coma held. 

Joseph Hugh Reese. 

Digitized by 





By Kate Trimble Sharber 

Dec. 20 — "Yuletide in the South- 
land" is what Professor Young calls 
it, but from the sound you'd never 
know how nice it really is. It means 
that the Youngs have come down to 
the bungajow to spend Christmas and 
have brought his brother, Julius, to 
spend it too. I admire Mr. Julius 
Young, both his name and his ways. 
He noticed me the minute he got off 
the train and said I would have to be 
his sweetheart. Although I have 
learned, from being so deceived by 
Dr. Gordon's remarks like that, you 
mustn't depend on what they say, still 
it makes you like a person when they 
say it to you. 

He is not a college professor li